Heaven and Earth
by Jinxed-Wood
Summary: BtVSHighlander crossover. Attending a job interview at Sunnydale University, Methos begins to suspect something is not quite right...then the sun goes down.
1. Default Chapter

**Heaven and Earth****  
  
Disclaimer: BtVS and Angel belong to Joss Whedon and Highlander belongs to Panzer/Davis. I'm just playing in their sandbox!  
  
Sunnydale, Summer of 2002**  
  
"So, Dr Pierson, how soon can you start?"  
  
_"Something is very wrong here," _Methos thought worriedly, leaning back in his chair as he caught the desperate glint in her eyes; _"I wonder if I'll figure out what before it stabs me in the back?_ "Um, I shall have to get back to you on that," he said uncertainly, "As I've said before, I've still some research to finish at the Sorbonne…"  
  
"Yes, yes," the professor said dismissively, waving his excuses away with her hand. "However, I'm sure as soon as you explain to your superiors how desperately we need to fill our lecturing position in Ancient Linguistics..."  
  
"Yes…about that," Methos interrupted worriedly. "I was under the impression Professor Bulmer lectured here and I was being offered a fellowship, has Professor Bulmer left the university?"  
  
Ah, yes," the interviewer said cagily, "An unfortunate accident…hmmm…great loss of…to the University."  
  
"Are you trying to tell me he's dead?" asked Methos incredulously, "But I only exchanged an e -mail with him last week; what happened to him?  
  
"A stabbing incident, I believe," the professor murmured, "I'm afraid I don't know the details."  
  
_And I'm afraid that you're lying to me, Madam. _Methos thought wryly, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. _What in Hades is going on in this place? Damn it, I knew this job offer was too good to be true…_  
  
Well, actually, he didn't, he admitted to himself silently as he smiled blandly at the interviewer. He knew his last paper, on Sumerian glyphs, had caused quite a stir in his small academic circle – as he had intended it to – and when he had been offered the fellowship at Sunnydale University, he had congratulated himself on a plan well executed. Being a fan of the Late Professor Bulmer's work, he had jumped at the opportunity to work with him…and the thought of living under the Californian sun didn't hurt either.  
  
So why did sunny California feel a lot less inviting all of a sudden? "Give me a few days to think it over," he prevaricated, softening his words with another smile as her face fell. "I'll let you know by the end of the week."  
  
"You promise?" she asked, her voice suddenly becoming small.  
  
Why did he feel like the bold man who had stolen a child's biscuit? "Um, promise," he muttered. _"And hope to die…somewhere else." _  
  
"Very well," the Professor replied, regaining some of her composure as she got to her feet. "I look forward to hearing from you. I'm positive you would fit right in. Our ancient Studies department is one of the more…dynamic…of our faculties."  
  
"I'm sure it is," he muttered, mentally cursing himself for not doing a more in-depth check on the University. If Professor Bulmer hadn't died, he mightn't have picked up on the strange undercurrents until it was too late.  
  
"We look forward to hearing from you, Dr Pierson," The professor murmured as he rose from his seat.  
  
"Ah, yes," Methos muttered, summoning a polite smile. "Well…it's been nice meeting you, Professor Logan."  
  
"And you, Dr Pierson."  
  
Methos gathered his coat and gave the interviewer a polite nod as he left the room. Shutting the door behind him, he gave a sigh of relief and shook his head ruefully. Discreetly, he let his eyes wander over the students as he stalked down the hallway; on the surface everything was as it was supposed to be; students arguing and laughing in the hallways. Now that he was actually paying attention, though, he noticed it. The laughter was a little too forced; the nonchalance a little too studied. He had seen this before - in London during the Blitz; a population living under the spectre of death but striving to ignore it; striving to 'get on with their lives'.  
  
Puzzled, he noticed how the students watched him from the corner of their eyes as he strolled down the hall, and he found himself wondering how high they'd jump if he made a sudden move…he had a funny feeling it would be pretty high. What the hell was going on here? Slowly, he walked out onto the grounds, sat on one of the benches and settled down to observe his surroundings. Sunnydale niggled at his sense of curiosity; unfortunately, it also niggled at his sense of self-preservation.  
  
The grounds were awash with students leaving their classes; the college day was nearing a close. Frowning, he noticed how few were lingering to talk. Usually a university's grounds would be swarming with students planning their evening, but these students seemed very eager to get out of the open. Lost in thought, Methos let his eyes rest on the sun. There was still few hours left in the day, maybe he should give the town the once over..  
  
Setting a brisk pace, he set out for the city centre. Considering the town's size, Sunnydale museum boasted quite an impressive collection of Bronze Age and medieval artefacts. If he hurried, he might have enough time to have a look before the museum closed.  
  
Draping his coat over his arm, he basked in the warm sun and smiled contentedly. This was the life; no rain, no cold…pity about the whole mysterious-dead-body thing. Rooting around in his pocket, he pulled out a small, folded map. Two more blocks, then turn left. Walk straight past the hospital, and then take the first right. Satisfied, he pocketed the map and kept going. If he hurried, he would have a good hour to check out the exhibits. He remembered an email the good professor had sent him about a number of old Native American artefacts they had uncovered here a few years ago. They should be interesting to see.  
  
The distant wail of an ambulance caught his attention and Methos raised an eyebrow as the vehicle sped up the street and passed him in a blur, the wheels lifting off the ground as it careened around the corner. He had seen an ambulance break the speed limit before, but he hadn't seen one act as if it was in a car chase - he half expected to see another one on its heels. Looking over his shoulder, he laughed as he saw another ambulance pull onto the street, albeit at a more sedate pace. His good humour faded, however, as the unmistakable presence of another immortal washed over him. Damn it, where did he come from? He had checked the watcher files thoroughly before he'd left Paris and no immortal was supposed to live here, it was one of the things he found attractive about the town. Come to think of it, the files had stated no immortal had ever lived here; which, now he thought about it, was rather odd…  
  
Automatically, his hand reached for the familiar shape hidden in the folds of his coat. No doubt about it, this town definitely had him on edge. The poor bastard was on his way to a morgue, for crying out loud. The only challenge he'll be facing in the near future is how to sneak out of the coroner's office before they realised his heart had started beating again…  
  
Shrugging, he walked on, hesitating a moment as he passed the hospital. Shaking his head, he snorted and redoubled his step. No doubt about it, that bloody Boy Scout was having a bad influence on him. For a moment he had actually considered going to the immortal's aid. He really needed to get out of Paris before it was too late. Next thing you know, he'll be taking on a student…  
  
His good mood ruined, Methos muttered under his breath as he turned the corner. That was it; he'd have a quick look at the museum's collection and then take the next flight out of it. There was a midnight flight to L.A., if he remembered correctly. Looking up, he ground to a halt and stared at the cordon tape blocking his way; beyond it, stood the Museum. It seemed academia was a hotbed of crime in Sunnydale.  
  
Seeing a policeman lounging on the steps with a cup of coffee, Methos hunched his shoulders and casually sidled up to his side. "Good day, officer," he said amiably, noting the distrustful expression on his face. "I don't suppose you could tell me what happened?"  
  
"Robbery," the policeman said shortly, straightening up as he glared at Methos.  
  
"You're kidding me," Methos replied, his eyes in a picture of surprise. "What was stolen?"  
  
"Why do you want to know?" the officer demanded hostilely.  
  
Taking a step back, Methos raised his hands in a gesture of submission. "Just professional interest," he demurred, "My speciality is ancient languages, you see, and I heard the museum had an impressive collection of manuscripts. I was in town being interviewed for a teaching position at U.S.C. so I thought I'd have a look…"  
  
"Yeah, well, it was the armoury section that was robbed," the policeman said with a shrug. "So you needn't worry."  
  
"Oh…I see…I don't suppose the museum will be open to the public before closing time?" Methos asked, uncomfortably aware of the antique sword in his coat - time to leave.  
  
"Not a chance," the officer muttered. "This is the second robbery they've had in the last few months. They're not going to open for the rest of the week."  
  
"Hmm...well, I won't keep you any longer, officer," Methos said, smiling genially as he backed away. "Good day."  
  
Without looking back, he quickly retraced his steps, not pausing until he turned the corner. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about this town was not right. Maybe it was just his paranoia getting the better of him. Checking his watch, he realised he still had a few hours to kill. He could get something to eat before making his way back to the motel. Seeing a small coffee shop, he stepped inside and ordered.  
  
Staring sightlessly out the window, his mind went over the events of the day. Now that he thought about it, things were rather odd from the start. Take the strange array of weapons the motel owner had on the wall behind the desk. Many people, who never used a weapon in their life, display swords on their wall…but an axe and a crossbow as well? He pictured the weapons in his mind and immediately realised what he had missed; they looked… used.  
  
Methos smiled absently at the waitress as she put his meal on the table and continued cataloguing all he had seen since he's arrived at Sunnydale. Glancing at the door, his eyes narrowed as he noticed a new customer stroll in. There was nothing odd about him, per se; what was odd was the waitress's reaction. Silently, he watched as the waitress slowly turned and studied the customer's reflection in the large mirror behind the counter, frowning as she pretended to rearrange her fringe.  
  
He remembered the clerk had done the exact same thing at the motel last night.  
  
Deep in his bones, Methos knew he should know what this meant; it was all so familiar. Why he couldn't pin it down? Polishing off his sandwich, he decided to walk back to the motel and collect his bags. He'd wait for his flight at the airport.  
  
The first thing he noticed as he stepped out onto the street was the sunset; the second thing he noticed was the deserted street. Once again, Methos was reminded of the war years in London; if he didn't know better, he'd swear there was a curfew. _"The sooner I'm out of this town, the better," _he thought irritably as he threw on his coat.  
  
He had barely stepped outside when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him, _"I don't believe this," _he thought, incredulously. _Oh…wait a minute…yes I do." _Rolling his eyes, he slowed his step. Sure enough, the footsteps slowed down too. His would-be-mugger wasn't exactly subtle. Methos thought swiftly; which would be more effective; sword or gun?  
  
He decided on his sword. Nothing like a sharp, shiny object to make a mugger nervous; his hand curled around its handle as he swiftly turned the next corner. Spinning on his feet, he unsheathed the blade and waited for his attacker. He didn't have to wait long.  
  
Raising an eyebrow, Methos relaxed as a middle-aged man followed him around the corner. He looked like an accountant. Seeing the man's startled expression, Methos smiled embarrassedly as he hid the sword in the folds of his coat. "Sorry about that," he muttered apologetically, "I thought…."  
  
With a snarl, the man pounced, slamming him into the wall. "Bloody hell!" Methos gasped as his breath left his lungs. Ignoring him, his attacker grabbed him by the hair. Methos reacted instinctively.  
  
He kneed him in the balls.  
  
Howling in pain, the mugger doubled over and let loose a torrent of expletives. "Language, Language," Methos said, tutting under his breath.  
  
With a low growl, his attacker jumped to his feet and lunged. With a cry of disbelief, Methos jumped back, barely avoiding a kick to the head. What the hell? Snaking his hand into his coat, he drew out his sword. Slowly, the circled each other, Methos nervously keeping his blade between them as he reached for his dagger; something was extremely off about this guy. He was unarmed but didn't seem the least bit worried about the great big sword waving in his face, not to mention the fact he wasn't even breathing hard…wait a minute…he wasn't breathing at all.  
  
Unease crawled down his spine as an old memory surfaced. No, it couldn't be…he hadn't seen one of those in over three millennia; they were extinct…weren't they? With a sinking heart, Methos realised he had come to gunfight with only a knife…or should he say stake fight?  
  
_"Well…look on the bright side…at least now you know why the locals are so nervous." _  
  
Grimly, Methos went over all the things he knew about vampires – primarily, how to kill them. Stake…sunlight…holy water…_decapitation! _Well, well, well, maybe things weren't so bad after all. This, he knew how to do.  
  
Methos attacked, feinting with his dagger as brought his sword down on the vampire's neck. For a split second, his mugger's feature's morphed; showing his true face before it dissolved into dust. Sheathing his sword and dagger, Methos stepped back and caught his breath. He was getting too old for this shit.  
  
The hairs on the back off his neck stood up and, with a groan, Methos realised he still wasn't alone. He spun around just in time to see the vampire's grin as he punched him the stomach. Winded, Methos doubled over and resigned himself to a painful death as the creature jerked his head back with a snap. With a roar of triumph, the vampire sunk his teeth into his jugular and the world faded to grey...

* * *

Gasping painfully, Methos regained consciousness, his hand reaching to his neck automatically. Rolling to his feet, he checked his watch and cursed. He had been out for over an hour; it seemed exsanguinations took a lot out of one. Grimacing at his own joke, he dusted of his clothes as he scanned the alley. Luckily, nobody was around to witness his miraculous return from the dead. Readjusting his coat, he winced as he noticed the absence of his sword. A quick search found his dagger and wallet missing too. Brilliant, just what he needed to round off the day. Checking his leg-holster, he noted he still had his gun. Not that it would do him much good, he wryly thought.  
  
The sound of police sirens caught Methos' attention and he cautiously followed the sound. Stepping around the corner, he stopped in his tracks. Everything else paled into insignificance as he witnessed the impossible – a woman with some kind of skin mutilation, dressed in black, floating in mid-air in front of the police station. He watched in amazement as, with a wave of her hand, she hurtled a car across the street. Wearily, Methos shook his head in defeat. He'd had enough, time to leave. Silently, he staggered down the street towards the motel. Mac and his problems didn't seem so bad after all.  
  
He had nearly reached the motel when he felt the presence of the other immortal; oh goodie, looks like he found a way out of the morgue. His eyes wary, he reached for his holster and retrieved his glock. Without his sword, he wasn't in the mood for a chat.  
  
It was then he saw the girl stumble out of a side street. "Who are you?" she gasped, clutching to the wall for support.  
  
"Adam Pierson, at you service," Methos muttered, pocketing the gun. He doubted she was hiding a sword under the hospital gown she was wearing. "Don't take this the wrong way, but couldn't you have found something a little more discreet to wear…or at least a pair of shoes," he added, gesturing at her feet.  
  
"I…I didn't know what to do," the girl gasped, clasping her head. "One moment I was at home; the next, I was in the Morgue….oh!" Her eyes wide, she stumbled back, raising her hand warning. "Stay back! You're in danger!"  
  
Methos' mouth twitched. "Oh I am, am I?" he drawled, folding his arms.  
  
"I'm not kidding!," the girl insisted anxiously. "You have no idea…I'm not what you think I am."  
  
Methos groaned in disbelief as understanding dawned. _"Oh no…no, no ,no! This is not happening. I refuse to believe this is happening." _Not believing his bad luck, Methos sighed. Where was the Highlander when you needed him? "I hate to break it to you, kid," he muttered sourly, "But you aren't what _you_ think you are either…."  
  
The girl moaned, not answering as she cradled her head and, against his better judgement, Methos took a step forward. "It'll pass in a moment," he said abruptly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Just take a deep breath."  
  
"No! Stay away, I might hurt you," she cried, shrugging away his hand.  
  
"Trust me, Kid; not going to happen," Methos said, amusement showing in his voice.  
  
"You don't understand, I'm a killer," she sobbed, sinking to the ground.  
  
For a moment, Methos felt a pang of regret for what was about to happen, _"No, you're not, child…not yet." _Crouching down, he lifted the girls face by the chin. "Let me guess," he murmured. "You put two and two together and came up with five. Not surprising, really, I've already bumped into some of Sunnydale's nightlife…you're not a vampire, you know."  
  
"But I have to be," the girl said uncertainly. "I woke up in a morgue, I was…." Her voice drifted off, unable to say the word.  
  
"Dead," Methos confirmed. "Yes. I'm afraid so. But you're not a vampire. Here, let me prove it to you," taking her unresisting hand, he placed it over her heart. "Feel that?" he said softly. "That's your heartbeat."  
  
"I don't understand," she whispered. "If I'm not a vampire, what am I?"  
  
_"Here we go again," _Methos thought, a wave of sadness washing over him; he had always hated this part. "You're an immortal," he said.  
  
"An Immortal?" the girl repeated unsurely. "I've never heard of them. Does that mean…I mean…am I a demon?"  
  
Methos smirked. "I don't think so. At least, that's what I keep telling myself!" With a sigh, he sat down beside her. "We're human – sort of."  
  
"I see," the girl said numbly. "Well…I suppose I should go home," Dazedly, the girl scrambled to her feet and looked down at her feet. "You're right…I should have taken some shoes…"  
  
Wincing, Methos jumped to his feet; the girl was obviously still in shock. Gently, he laid a restraining hand on her arm. "You can't go home, kid. You died, remember? People tend to get a bit nervous when somebody rises from the dead; you can't just stroll through the door."  
  
A ghost of a smile appeared on the girl's face. "You're not from around here, are you?" she murmured.  
  
"No, I'm not," he admitted. "But I think I've already figured out that this town has some unusual quirks."  
  
"Listen, you don't have to worry about me, I'll be fine," the girl insisted. "My friends are bit more open minded about this kind of thing than you'd think. I mean, as long as you were telling me the truth about not being a demon…" Uncertainly, the girl studied his face as Methos hesitated.  
  
"You're not a demon," he confirmed, "But you're not exactly human anymore either." Grimacing, he combed his hand through his hair. No doubt about it, he was spending way much time with that blasted Scot. "They are a few things you need to know; I can't just let you wander off home without telling you the basics."  
  
"I'm not going to like this, am I?" the girl asked resignedly.  
  
"Probably not," Methos sighed. "Listen; just give me a few minutes of your time. Then, once I've filled you in, you can make your decision."  
  
"I don't know…"  
  
Methos studied her face and watched the battle raging within. It occurred to him he could just walk away; he had done his best hadn't he? It wasn't his fault she chose not to listen…_ "You could try harder." _Methos grimaced as Duncan's disapproving face flashed across his mind. Since when did his conscience speak in a Scottish accent? "So tell me," he murmured. "What's your name?"  
  
"My name? Oh…it's Tara…Tara MacLay."  
  
_"Oh great, that's all I need in my life - another bloody Scot." _"Well, Tara," Methos said dryly. "Before you toddle off home and resume your life, there are a few things you should know – the first thing being _you can't go home." _  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Didn't you get the memo? You're_ died, _woman!"  
  
"So?"  
  
Methos raised his hands in exasperation. This was going to take a while. The sooner he pawned this one off on the Highlander, the better…  
  
**  
  
The outskirts of Sunnydale, Summer of 2003**  
  
Calmly, she blinked away the tears as she stared at the yawning pit stretching out as far as the Horizon. She had read the accounts in the newspaper and had had looked at the blurred footage on the news. But none of it prepared her for the stark reality; the pure, unrelenting devastation. Dear Goddess, what happened?  
  
"The newspapers said most of the population had already evacuated before it happened...funny how they didn't dwell on why."  
  
Tara turned and gave Adam a wry smile. "Is that your version of moral support?"  
  
"Need a little practice, do I?" Adam drawled, leaning against the car's bonnet.  
  
"To put it mildly," Tara said as she brushed the last few tears from her face. "They wouldn't have left, you know, they would have stayed 'til the bitter end."  
  
"They still might have made it."  
  
"I need to know, Adam. I can't just walk away and....I just can't."  
  
"I knew it was a bad idea to come here," Adam said grimly. "If I've told you once, I've told you a million times..."  
  
"I know, I know…" Tara interrupted softly, turning to look at the devastation once more. "But you don't understand, Adam; living in Sunnydale was…it forged bonds, bonds which are hard to break, and Willow…I shouldn't have left her. She needed me."  
  
Behind her, Adam sighed. "Where do you want to start?" he muttered.  
  
"You mean that?" said Tara, her voice filling with hope as she spun around to look at his face.  
  
Reluctantly, Adam nodded. "But I warn you, you might not like what you find, Tara," he said darkly, opening the car door. "There's a reason why we break all ties after our first death…and it's not because of insurance fraud."  
  
"You'll see, it'll be okay," she said excitedly, joining him the car.  
  
"So?" Adam asked as he started the engine.  
  
"So what?"  
  
"Where do we start?"  
  
"Oh!" Frowning, Tara thought. "Angel," she eventually said. "He lives in Los Angelus."  
  
Adam nodded. "The Vampire with a soul; bit of an oxymoron, if you ask me," he murmured. "What's he doing in L.A., by the way? You never told me."  
  
"He runs a detective agency…helping the helpless and all that," Tara explained.  
  
"Oh lovely," Methos grumbled under his breath. "Just what I need – another boy scout."  
  
"I heard that!" Tara teased, grinning at him slyly. 

"Pity your hearing isn't as good when I try to give you advice," he retorted as he backed up the car. "It would make my life so much simpler."

Ignoring the jibe, Tara closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. She had imagined this moment a thousand times over the last year and had rehearsed it a thousand more. But now the time had come and her mind was a blank. How could she explain what she'd become…how could she explain the game?

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

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**_Author's note: Wow, what can I say? Thank you for all the lovely reviews! For all those who had questions, I hope this note answers a few of them. Some seemed puzzled about the timeline; the answer is I'm flitting between the events of 2002 and 2003. I didn't mean to give you the impression that all of the last chapter happened in the same time period. Hopefully, _****_Tara_****_'s reasons for leaving Sunnydale will also become clearer in this chapter. And for all those who went 'hmm', I hope this chapter quells your doubts - this is the first time I've written about _****_Tara_****_, so if anyone believes she's acting out of character, please let me know – I could do with the advice!_**

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**_And now, moving swiftly onwards…_**

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**Chapter 2**

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**Los Angelus, summer of 2003**

Absently, Tara moved the food around the plate with her fork as she waited for Adam to get off the cell phone. They had arrived in L.A. less than two hours ago and they'd already run out of leads.

The first place they had checked was Angel Investigations. Luckily, they were listed in the phonebook as Tara didn't know the address. But, as they pulled up in front of the building, Tara realised she'd just used up her luck quota for the day. A 'For Rent' sign was taped to one of the windows.

" It seems your vampire has closed up shop," Adam had said, reading the sign. "Do you have any idea where we should look next?"

"No…I didn't know him very well…I met him only once, at Buffy's funeral."

"Hmm…watch the street, would you?" Puzzled, Tara had turned to watch the passers-by, only to hear a sharp click a moment later. She glanced over her shoulder and found Adam slipping in through the now open door. "Stay here, I'll have a quick look around and see what I can find."

He had found nothing; the place had been swept clean of Angel's presence. So now she sat in the restaurant of a Hotel, playing with her food as Adam made a few phone calls. She wasn't sure what he expected to find, but Adam had insisted that everyone left a paper trail - even an ensouled vampire.

Tara wondered what else had changed over the last year, her mind dwelling on the crater that was once Sunnydale. They were alive…she was alive…she'd know if Willow was dead, wouldn't she? Sighing, Tara admitted to herself she wouldn't. Like her magic, her ability to sense her lover's wellbeing had been severely affected by her first death. The power was still there, she could feel it if she concentrated; but her ability to tap into it had disappeared as surely as her previous life. It was if her inner pathways had been realigned when she died and they now flowed in a different direction.

She had once cautiously breached the subject with Adam, careful not to go into too much detail about her previous powers. She had swiftly found out that, although Adam could accept the idea of vampires existing, he was very sceptical about her insistence that other demonic creatures existed as well. And when she brought up the Hellmouth…well, he stopped laughing eventually.

Surprisingly, after a lot of humming and hawing; Adam had eventually admitted they were a few immortals who could be termed as witches. Excited, she had questioned him but quickly found out that Adam's idea of what a witch could do and hers were vastly different. Nevertheless, she kept on prodding him for information; who were they, did he know him?

Tara's heart had sunk as she saw the shutters go down on his face. "I've met three that I've known of" he muttered distantly. "One I don't get on with, the other two are...dead."

Seeing the flash of pain in his eyes, Tara decided to drop the subject.

But she had continued to investigate the problem without Adam; turning to his friend, Joe, for help. She swiftly found out a few things she wish she hadn't. She found out about Cassandra. She knew Joe had left out a lot of the details, and he had been suspiciously vague about when Cassandra and Adam first met, but he did give her the general gist of the story. It was then she realised Adam had been less than forthcoming about his past. She had her suspicions before, of course; but never in her wildest dreams would she have guessed the scope of his deception. One thing was for sure, he was a _lot_ older than the two centuries he had admitted to.

Needless to say, Joe's revelations had left her shaken. Even Joe's censored version made a horrific tale. Adam could sometimes be a little cold and unfeeling, but never in a million years would she have guessed he was capable of such an evil act. It definitely caused her to examine Adam's cynical and pragmatic nature more closely. This was the man who was her teacher, could she trust him?

Not for the first time, Tara had questioned her decision to leave Sunnydale with Adam. Who was this man in whom she had entrusted her life? Every time she thought she'd him figured out, he said something which made her realise he was a stranger to her; and now this… Quickly she had gone over her options. The first thing that had sprung to mind was confronting him and demanding the truth, but she had spent enough time with Adam to know he wouldn't react very favourably. With a sigh, she had come to the conclusion she was more than a little afraid of her teacher.

Tara smiled ruefully as she remembered those few days. By the time Amanda had arrived in town, she was ready to pack her bags and flee to Sunnydale; her fear of Willow's reaction to her newfound immortality momentarily overridden by the disturbing new revelations about her teacher. Even now she wondered if she should have; at least would have been at Willow's side when whatever happened…happened.

But she hadn't of course. Instead, Amanda had swept into town and, seeing Tara's distraught state, took her out for lunch.

"So…are you going to tell me what's on your mind, or shall I have to pry it out of you?" Amanda had asked as their plates were cleared away and coffee was placed on the table.

"Oh…it's nothing, just wondering about things in general."

"Adam giving you a hard time?" Amanda had asked astutely, "Don't worry, dear; his bite is worse than his bite. You just need to learn to stand up for yourself a bit more…"

And then it all poured out. She had told Amanda everything. About Willow, about Sunnydale, about how she wasn't sure if she made the right decision when she left. She even ended up telling her about her conversations with Adam and Joe. She also told her about Cassandra.

"Aaaah," Amanda had sighed knowingly. "I _see_. Well, darling, I don't know what to say except that was then and this is now. People change, Tara, _immortals_ change. The Adam you know and the Adam Cassandra knew are two different people. I'll tell you a little secret, I am over a thousand years old; and the person I am now bears very little resemblance to the young woman I was when I met my first death. An immortal changes with the centuries, they have to in order to survive; it's as simple as that."

Tara recalled with amusement her stunned reaction to Amanda's age. She had known Amanda was a lot older than she looked; she was an immortal after all - but a _thousand years. _"How old is Adam," she had blurted out unthinkingly.

Amanda had smiled knowingly, her voice filled with gentle reproof. "That is for Adam to tell you, not I, Tara."

Taking the hint, Tara had changed the subject. "I don't suppose _you_ know anything about immortal witches?" she had asked wistfully, not really expecting an affirmative answer. She was pleasantly surprised.

"As a matter of fact, I do." A sad smile lit up Amanda's face as she spoke. "Her name was Rebecca and she was my teacher…" In a soft voice, Amanda had told Tara about her teacher; about Rebecca's life, her death, the Methuselah stone and, because one thing always leads to another, Amanda told her about Alexa.

As Amanda explained about Alexa's illness and Adam's last, desperate bid to save her life, Tara began to realise what Amanda had meant when she said Adam was now a very different person to the man Cassandra knew. Which was what Amanda intended, of course; Tara had seen the watchful look in her eyes as she spoke. But it didn't matter because, as Amanda told her more and more about those faithful few days, Tara began to understand; for all Adam's faults; he was still very, very human…

"Earth calling Tara MacLay."

"Huh?" Glancing up from plate, Tara caught the amused glint in Adam's eyes.

"Are you worried there might be something hiding under those carrots?" he asked teasingly, "Your errant vampire, perhaps?"

"Nah, not Angel's style," she said lightly, "Personally, I suspect he's lurking in the coffee pot; somewhere nice and dark to brood…"

Adam quirked an eyebrow, "Is this brooding thing habitual?" he asked as he poured a cup from the aforementioned coffee pot. "Because I have to tell you; the more you tell me about this guy, the more I'm beginning to suspect Mac is leading a double life."

Tara grinned; she had never met Duncan MacLeod but between what Adam, Joe and Amanda had said, she had formed a clear picture in her mind of what he was like. "Let's put it this way," she said, "My friend Xander used to call him 'brood-boy - when he wasn't busy calling him dead-boy, of course!"

"Oh lovely," Adam grumbled, "I can't wait to meet him. I can already feel the angst ridden atmosphere. Tell me, have you ever heard of a law firm called Wolfram and Hart?"

"Why? What have you found out?" asked Tara, sitting bolt upright in her chair. "Have they hurt Angel? Is he okay? Oh goddess, have they killed him?"

"And from that, I will presume you have," Adam said dryly, "Relax, he's okay. But, from you've just said, I'm not sure if this is such a good thing."

Puzzled, Tara frowned worriedly. "What do you mean?"

"Well…according to my sources, Angel Investigations pulled up stakes a couple of weeks ago and moved into Wolfram and Hart. Your vampire friend is now the CEO of their L.A. branch."

"That's impossible," Tara gasped, "Wolfram and Hart are evil, he would never…oh."

"Oh?" Adam prompted. "What is it you're not telling me, Tara?"

"His soul, he must have lost his soul," Tara said softly, her mind reeling with what that might mean. Shuddering, she remembered what Willow had told her about the last time he'd lost his soul; it wasn't pretty. If Angelus was back, things could get very nasty. Did he have something to do with what happened at Sunnydale? Tara felt a cold ball of anger rise inside her, "_If he's touched one hair on __Willow__'s head…"_

"How on earth could someone lose a soul?" Adam demanded incredulously, "It's not as if he could leave it behind him on a bus…or could he?"

Tara sighed; she had deliberately played down certain aspects of her previous life once she'd realised Adam wasn't too enamoured with her tales of the supernatural. After the little incident when she described the Hellmouth, she began to censor what she told him. But because Adam knew of the existence of vampires, she saw no harm in telling him about Angel and his uniqueness among the undead; that he was the only vampire who had a soul. With some difficulty, he had wrapped his mind around the idea of a vampire with a conscience; begrudgingly taking her at her word when she insisted it was true. "Well, I suppose there is always one to disprove the rule," he had muttered.

Tara hadn't been able to summon the courage to tell him there was a little bit more to the story That would mean explaining the gypsy curse and she was more than slightly convinced that Adam was humouring her half the time. She had once overheard him speaking to Joe on the phone, voicing aloud his worries about her mental state.

"Sometimes I don't think she's all there, Joe," he had said, "I think her experiences in that blasted town have left her with some severe psychological problems. You should have seen the place; it was practically overrun with vampires…" There was a short pause as Adam listened to Joe on the other end. "No, Joe, just because they are vampires, it does not necessarily follow there are demons and Hellmouths too!" Having heard enough, Tara had quietly shut her bedroom door.

Now, as Adam stared at expectantly, she wondered where to start. "It was a curse," she said haltingly. "He killed a gypsy in the nineteenth century and her tribe cursed him with a soul so he would suffer with a guilty conscience."

"Okaaay," Adam drawled as he slouched back in his chair and folded his arms, "You've got my attention, what else?"

"The curse had a clause," Tara explained, "One moment of perfect happiness and _puff_, no more soul."

"And you're thinking Angel has been a very happy boy recently," Adam murmured thoughtfully.

Tara nodded silently

"So what do you want to do now?" he asked.

"I still want to see him," Tara admitted, "It'll be dangerous but he's our only lead."

Are you sure you want to do this, Tara?" Adam asked gently. "You can change your mind anytime you want, you know. All you have to do is say the word and I'll book the first flight out of here."

Tara smiled sadly. She knew what Adam was really asking; did she really want to know what had happened to Willow and the others. "Yes, I'm sure," she assured him.

"Right, then," Adam muttered. "Well, their offices will be closed by now so we'll wait until morning. It'll probably be for the best, anyway; daylight will give us an advantage."

Tara sincerely doubted it, Willows description of Angelus still burned in her mind. "Um, I did mention he was a master vampire, didn't I?" she said.

"And what, exactly, is a _master_ vampire when it's at home?" Adam asked impatiently. "Don't tell me he's able to turn himself into a bat or something?"

"Oh no," Tara said hastily, "That's a myth - well, sort of a myth. Willow told me she once saw Dracula do it – but Angel can't do anything like that. When I say he's a master, I mean he's older, stronger and smarter than the usual vampire…oh, and he'll probably have minions. We'll need stakes and crosses…and lots of holy water…" her voice trailed off as she saw the expression on Adam's face. "What?"

"Dracula," he asked, his face a picture of disbelief.

"Don't ask," Tara sighed. "It's a long story."

Muttering something undistinguishable under his breath, Adam got to his feet. "I'm going to get some air," he murmured. "I'll be back in a few hours."

Tara watched silently as he stalked out of the room, a rueful twist to her smile. She should have seen that coming. Adam had taken a lot of these 'walks' since they'd met. Signing the bill for the meal, she stood; she'd wait for him upstairs. Hopefully, he will have cooled down enough to listen when he returned

**Paris****, Summer of 2002 **

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****"What do you mean he's gone?" Methos hissed, glaring at Amanda as she draped herself on the barge's couch.****

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Amanda shrugged. "I mean he's gone, _Adam_," she drawled. "As in absent, away, not _here_ - aren't you going to introduce me to your new friend?"

Methos looked over his shoulder and saw Tara still standing in the doorway. "It's safe to come in, Tara," he said, waving her in, "This is Amanda, an old friend of Duncan's."

Shyly, the young woman stepped into the Barges main living area and Amanda got her feet, flashing a warm smile. "How do you do, Tara; my name is Amanda Darieux," she said, taking Tara's suitcase from her hands. "Take a seat; you must be tired after your long journey…"

Methos glared at Amanda suspiciously. "How did _you_ know her journey was long?" he demanded. "I haven't even told you where I was."

"Joe phoned me," Amanda said simply. "Or should I say he phoned Duncan and got me instead."

"I told him not to do that," Methos said irritably.

"Well, maybe he felt it wasn't fair to let you shanghai Duncan like that," Amanda said with a shrug. "Its all academic now, he's not here."

Methos threw himself onto the couch and irritably gestured at a seat as he noticed Tara hovering at the edge of the room. She perched on the edge of an armchair and quietly looked around, her intelligent eyes taking everything in. Turning his attention to Amanda, he frowned as he saw her poking her head into the fridge; surely she wasn't about to attempt to cook? He breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled out three bottles of beer from the fridge; a narrow escape from Amanda's cooking skills – most of her concoctions ended up stuck to the bottom of the pan. As she rooted around for the bottle opener in a drawer, Methos found himself wondering what the hell she was doing here. The last he'd heard, she was running a club in Canada; where was it again? Toronto, Quebec, Vancouver…

A bottle slid into view and Methos grabbed it out of Amanda's hand. "What are you doing in Paris, Amanda?" he asked before taking a swig.

"I felt the need to see the city again," she murmured, handing Tara a bottle before taking a seat beside Methos on the couch.

Methos smirked. "You mean you felt the need to see Duncan again," he corrected, "Who's after you this time?"

"What makes you think…"

"Because day comes after night and water is wet, Amanda," he murmured, sarcasm dripping off every word. "Who is it?"

"It's not an immortal, if that's what you're thinking," she said with a sigh, "Just your normal, mundane hood."

"He can't be _that _mundane if you left the country to avoid him," Methos pointed out.

"What can I say, he has a mean streak," Amanda admitted. "I thought it would be a good idea to disappear for a few weeks while the local police take care of him….I've a friend on the force."

"Handy," Methos said, raising an eyebrow.

"It can be," she said with a shrug. "So…how's life? I see you've acquired a student…"

"She's _not my student_," Methos interjected quickly. "I'm just….keeping an eye on her until I find someone willing to teach her."

"Like Duncan," Amanda concluded, "I think you might be out of luck, Adam."

"Tell me about it," Methos muttered as he eyed Tara sitting in the armchair. She was studiously pretending not to listen to their conversation as she took a polite sip of her beer; smart kid. Sitting back in the couch, he looked at Amanda speculatively…

"The answer is no," she murmured.

"I didn't ask a question," Methos protested.

"But you were going to!" she countered. "You found her, she's your responsibility."

"Last time I looked, there were only three rules to the game, Amanda. There wasn't a clause which said 'Oh, by the way; if you come across any new immortals on your travels, they're your problem'."

"I said responsibility, not problem, and I don't see why you're making such a big deal about this. She seems to be a nice, intelligent girl - aren't you, Darling," she added, throwing Tara a wink, "It's not as if you have a busy schedule, Adam. Taking on a student won't kill you!"

"I wouldn't bet on it!" Methos grumbled.

Tara, silent until now, cleared her throat. "I'll be fine by myself, honest," she murmured, "I know you think I need a teacher but I don't. I've been thinking about this on the flight here and I've decided I'm not going to participate in the 'game'."

Methos and Amanda sighed in unison. "I've already explained this to you, Tara," Methos muttered. "You can't opt out of the game, its part of being an immortal."

"I can't see why not," Tara protested, "I mean, you said Holy ground was safe…"

The image of Darius' dead body sprawled over the altar of his church rose in Methos' mind. "Even Holy ground isn't totally safe, Tara; they're ways around that rule. Trust me on this."

"But its murder," Tara said, distress showing in her voice, "I don't think I could live with that…and my friends…"

And there lay the true crux of the problem, Methos realised; her friends. His mind flew back to their discussion in the motel in Sunnydale. At first, Tara had insisted she should go home; saying that her friends would take her immortality in their stride. They had seen stranger things in their life, after all. But when he explained the mechanics of the game, she suddenly fell silent. Without a word of protest, she quietly accompanied him to L.A. and, after he had acquired a false passport for her, onto Paris. Now, for the first time, he gained an insight into her sudden change of mind. She didn't think her friends would have a problem with her immortality, but she did think her friends would have a problem with her being a murderer.

Amanda nudged him discreetly, "Say something," she whispered under her breath.

And, at that moment, Methos knew he was doomed. Whether he liked it or not, he had just acquired a student.

**L.A.****, Summer of 2003**

Once out of Tara's line of sight, Methos made a beeline for the lift. He fully intended to leave the hotel for a few hours, but not without his laptop. Hurriedly, he stabbed at the button and shuffled his feet impatiently as he waited for the lift to arrive. After what seemed an age, the doors eventually opened and Methos slipped inside. Mercifully, the elevator was empty so he didn't have to bother holding in the tirade going on his mind. "This is it, old man," he muttered, as he pressed his floor's number. "The moment you were avoiding for the last year. I knew we should have stayed in Paris." Cursing under his breath, he stepped onto his floor and hurried to his room. He knew Tara wouldn't linger in the restaurant and he didn't want to see her until he was ready. He needed a few hours to think.

Grabbing his laptop, he rushed to the elevator and cursed once again when he noticed it was on its way up from the ground floor. Knowing his luck, Tara was probably in it; if he didn't move quickly, she would sense his presence. Not stopping to think twice, he ran to the stairs and took them two at a time.

It was with a breath of relief he stepped onto the pavement outside; at last, a moment alone to gather his thoughts. Weaving his way through the pedestrian traffic, he searched for a place to grab a quiet beer. He eventually spotted the perfect spot a few blocks from the hotel; a little pub called McGovern's. Stepping inside, he let his eyes adjust to the dimmed light and, seeing that all the tables were taken, made his way to the bar. Taking a stool, he ordered a Guinness and opened his laptop. Connecting it to his mobile, he typed his enquiry into the search engine and pressed return.

They were 278 entries.

Ah well, he supposed he should start with the official website. Clicking the link, he scrolled down Wolfram and Hart's homepage. Near the bottom, there was a small paragraph detailing how their L.A. office was under new management. Alongside it was a small photo of a serious but looking young man staring confidently at the lens. A quick glance at the photo's caption confirmed his suspicions. This was Angel.

At the end of the paragraph there was another link and, with a quick click, he followed it. A new page opened up on screen and Methos found himself staring at yet another photo of the vampire, this time flanked by a number of other people. The young man certainly wasn't camera shy. He scanned the caption under the picture and quirked an eyebrow as he recognised one of the names. Tara had mentioned a Wesley Wyndham Price when they were discussing Angel Investigations earlier. Quickly, Methos examined the photo again, his eyes shying away from the green skinned creature standing to Angel's left; one supernatural entity at a time, than you very much.

Sighing, he scrolled down the page. Apparently the new management were taking the L.A. branch in a whole new direction; how delightful. Cynically, he read the contents as he recalled what Tara had told him. He didn't know what to believe; perhaps things weren't as black and white as she thought. Again, he looked at the photo. If he'd lost his soul, as Tara believed, it would explain his sudden turn to the dark side, but it didn't explain why Wesley Price had joined him…maybe he'd been turned. Would that be the sort of thing a soul-free Angel would do? And what exactly was so evil about Wolfram and Hart anyway? He knew it was a law form…but still.

Frowning, he took a sip of his beer and looked at the search engine's page once more. Scanning the list of sites, he eventually settled on one entitled 'The Wolf and the Hart: Enter the Darkness'. It took him a matter of moments to realise he had stumbled across a conspiracy buff. Some of the stories bordered on the crazed. The claim L.A. had spent a week under darkness, for instance; if something like that had actually happened, surely it would have been all over the international papers…

On impulse, he did a quick search on sun eclipses in California, and his eyebrows rose in disbelief as the page filled up with hundreds of entries. Uneasily, he sifted through them. Some of entries were personal web pages, some of them were online journals; but all of them spoke of the week the sun went dark in Los Angelus. There were also a number of disturbing references to a woman called Jasmine.

What had he gotten himself into?

Closing his laptop, he finished off his pint and left the money on the counter. For the last year, he had avoided talking to Tara about her past. Partly because he thought it wasn't a good idea encouraging her to dwell on her life before her first death, and partly because he wasn't sure he'd like what he would hear. Now, he wondered if that had been such a good idea.

He shook his head as he remembered the little she had told him about her life in Sunnydale. Some of the stories had been so outrageous he hadn't known what to think. At first, he'd believed the trauma of her first death had seriously unhinged her mind. But, as he spent more time with her, he revised his theory. Tara was probably one of the most well adjusted people he'd ever met. She was a little on the shy side, but that was hardly a sign of insanity.

As Methos walked down the street, his mind flitted back to his visit to Sunnydale. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't quite forget the unearthly scene he had witnessed on Sunnydale's high street. The black clad figure levitating in mid-air as she toyed with the local police constabulary. He had tried to dismiss the incident as smoke and mirrors, an illusion like those Cassandra was so good at; it didn't work.

It seemed, after five thousand years, they were still a few things he didn't know. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He thought of Mac, and how he had lost his student as a result of battling something he didn't understand; the entity that called itself a demon, Ahriman. Then, too, he had questioned his friend's sanity rather than believe what he had said. Now he found himself questioning why he so stubbornly held onto his disbelief.

Methos sighed; Duncan would have been the perfect teacher for Tara. Not only did they have a similar ethical outlook, but he also had a lot more patience and sympathy for a new immortal's plight. His own first death was so far in the past, he only had a vague recollection of his mortal life. Methos could teach Tara one end of the sword from the other, but he couldn't instil in Tara the willingness to kill in order to survive. The concept of the game horrified Tara, her gentle nature repelled by the idea of chopping someone's head off. And it only got worse when he eventually described to her a quickening. Try as he might, he couldn't convince her that a quickening wasn't the immortal's equivalent of a soul. She had once, in a fit of pique, described immortals as a race of soul eaters. The thing is, he wasn't so sure he disagreed with her; it just didn't bother him as much as she thought it should.

Looking up, he found he'd arrived at the hotel. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped into the lobby and made his way up to the suite. He felt her presence even before he exited the elevator. Tara wouldn't sense him until he reached the door, it was one of the few advantages of being old; he could always sense them coming first - not that he would admit it. Letting himself in, he saw Tara calmly reading a book on the couch. She quietly laid the book aside and Methos glanced at the cover - 'A hundred years of solitude'. His lips quirked; sometimes Tara displayed a twisted sense of humour.

"We need to talk," she murmured quietly, fixing him with her large, serious eyes.

"That's putting it mildly," he said lightly, heading for the mini-bar.

"You drink too much," she observed as he pulled a beer from the fridge.

Methos shrugged. "I can never drink too much," he declared as he sprawled in an armchair, "One of the many disadvantages of being an immortal. The best I can hope for is a slight buzz."

"I don't seem to have that problem," Tara said, throwing him a puzzled look.

"Wait a few years," he advised, "You'll find out what I mean if you live long enough."

Tara shrugged his words away. "I need to tell you about my life in Sunnydale," she said, "All of it. Otherwise you won't be prepared for what you will find at Wolfram and Hart."

"I'm all ears," Methos drawled, cradling the bottle in his hands.

"You're not going to like it."

"I didn't think I would, Tara," he said. "But you're right, I need to know everything. I've put off this moment long enough."

A flash of surprise crossed Tara's face and Methos smiled grimly as she sat forward in the couch. "Well, it all started during my first year in college…"

The story began.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

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**Author's note: _Hello again! Once more, I wish to thank all those who took the time to review…and if Alan Pitt is reading this, I hope this chapter answers a few of your questions! To answer a few more: yes, I do remember that scene when Cassie appears to _****_Willow_****_ instead of _****_Tara_****_…I intend to use it for fodder in a future chapter. And though I don't expect anyone to burst into song in this story, I have been toying with the idea of certain someone humming absently under their breath – and being overheard by a certain green skinned demon! Beyond that, my lips are sealed!_**

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**Chapter Three**

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**Los Angelus, Summer of 2003**

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"_Stakes, check; holy water, check; sword…check…oh Goddess, what I wouldn't do for a good fireball spell right now_." Tara surreptitiously wiped the palms of her hands on her coat as she tried to regain control of her tripping heartbeat.

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"Deep breaths," Adam's voice said in her ear, "I find it always helps." Tara nodded nervously and inhaled a deep gulp of air as she stepped through the large, open doors of Wolfram and Hart.

The foyer was enormous; a light filled and modern affair which betrayed little of what Wolfram and Hart truly was. She had expected something a bit more…eldritch; with maybe a few skulls artfully scattered around the place to finish off the look. Bewildered, Tara came to a standstill as she tried to take it all in; beside her, Adam raised an eyebrow as a dwarfish, mud-coloured demon scuttled past him, his tail swishing in agitation.

"I don't suppose they all come in that size?" he asked, half hopefully, as the stubby little creature wound its way through the crowd, "Because, if they do, this will be a lot easier than I thought…or maybe not."

Tara's eyes followed his gaze and a lop-sided grin tugged at her face, "F'narl demon," she supplied as she watched the creature lumber across the room, his path hurriedly emptied as it steered its way to the entrance. "Not much brains, but they make up for it in brawn and attitude.

"I once knew an immortal like that," Adam said lightly, but his eyes were still riveted on the demon. "Well, now we've both seen the side-show, shall we move onto the main attraction?"

Tara scanned the room, her eyes coming to a halt as they rested on a scantily clad blonde, doing her nails as she chattered loudly into a set of headphones, behind a large reception desk. "_Strange, she seems so familiar…"_ Tara racked her brains; where had she seen that face before?

"See someone you know?" Adam asked, tilting his head as he examined the receptionist. "Hmm, I didn't think she'd be your type…"

Tara gave his arm a half-hearted slap as she tried to pin down where she had seen the blonde's face; then, in a flash, it came to her. Willow had once pointed out a photo of her in her high school yearbook after that time Dawn had been kidnapped… "Harmony!" she burst out. The receptionist's head snapped up, a flash of yellow showing in her eyes as she searched the room. Oh Goddess, she'd forgotten how good a vampire's hearing was. Quickly, Tara faced Adam; but she had a funny feeling she'd already been rumbled.

"Somebody actually called the poor child Harmony?" asked Adam, amusement showing in his voice, "Poor girl."

"Poor vampire," Tara corrected, "She went to high school with Willow; got turned on graduation day."

"You mean when the…"

"U-huh," Tara murmured. "Is she looking this way?"

"Staring straight at us," Adam confirmed, looking over her shoulder.

Tara's heart sank, "Any suggestions?"

"Well, she _is_ the receptionist," Adam murmured, "How about we make an appointment?"

Tara threw her teacher a look of disbelief. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Adam shrugged. "When in Rome," he quoted, "Look, this may be a den of devilry; but it's still a law firm - and Angelus is their CEO. I say, if everyone else sees fit to pretend this is just another day at the office, we might as well go with the flow. It's either that or we pretend to be the pizza delivery guys. Besides, I don't think they're going to let us wander around the building until we stumble across him – check out the security." Tara looked in the direction Adam nodded and gulped as she saw the burly guards, armed to the teeth. They had an unnerving resemblance to the initiative soldiers back in Sunnydale.

"I see what you mean," she muttered.

"And besides, we might be wrong," Adam said cheerfully, "Perhaps Angelus hasn't lost his soul after all; and there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for his sudden defection to the dark side."

"I hope so," breathed Tara as she took a step towards the desk, "Or this might be the shortest appointment in history.

"Look on the bright side;" Adam murmured under his breath as they neared the desk, "What is the worst that can happen? Waking up in a dumpster after having the life drained out of one isn't exactly pleasant, but it isn't terminal either - not for us, anyway."

"Not helping."

"Listen, just let me do the talking," Adam muttered, letting a slow smile spread across his face as he shouldered past her. Behind the reception desk, Harmony looked at them expectantly. "How do you do," he murmured in a low, confidential voice as he stepped up to the desk. "We wish to make an appointment to see Mr. Angelus."

The budding smile on the Vampire's face faded as she looked warily about her. "The boss doesn't like to be called that nowadays," she said aloud, primly, "It's the whole soul thing, you see," she added in a conspiratorial whisper as she waved her hands to dry her nail varnish.

"I'll keep that in mind," he murmured, lowering his voice to match hers, "I don't suppose he has an opening in his schedule today?"

"Well, I don't know," the blonde vampire said unsurely, "He doesn't usually see walk-ins, you see. They're usually passed onto one of the associates."

Tara tried to keep her face straight as Adam's shoulders drooped; she had seen the puppy dog routine before…it usually worked a charm on Joe's waitresses. "Oh dear," he said in his small, little boy's voice, "And I so hoped to see him. It's very important, you see; life and death stuff."

It seemed vampires weren't immune to puppy dogs either. "Oh…well…if you tell me what it's about, maybe I can convince him to fit you in," she said consolingly, patting him on the shoulder.

Adam threw Tara a sideways glance, his eyes questioning. "Tell him it's about Sunnydale," Tara offered softly, coming to a decision, "Tell him we're here about Buffy…"

The expression on Harmon's face would have been funny if Tara didn't feel so nervous. "You're here about Buffy?" she squeaked, tearing off her headphones, "Why didn't you say so before? I'll be back in a moment." With vampiric speed, Harmony leapt to her feet and disappeared from behind the desk. Tara watched with trepidation as the Vampire ran through a pair of imposing doors; despite what Harmony had said, she still had her reservations about Angel. She was a vampire, after all; why would she be working for Angel if he still had his soul?

"I didn't think even a vampire could move that fast on heels," Adam said facetiously, digging his hands into his pockets as he craned his neck to see what was written on the open notepad on Harmony's desk. Absently, Tara wondered which weapons he had secreted in those pockets; the dagger or the gun…or maybe the stake she had insisted he carry? Probably all three, she ruefully concluded. She wasn't thee least bit fooled by his casual stance and throwaway remarks, she had known Adam long enough to recognise the tenseness around his eyes for what it was. She sincerely hoped that nobody made any sudden movements…

With a resounding crash, the doors swung open, bouncing off the walls as Angel swept into the foyer. "What's this about Buffy—" with a snap, Angel's mouth closed as his eyes narrowed suspiciously, "You're dead," he stated flatly, his expression menacing as he took a step forward.

"She got better," Adam interjected; his voice unnaturally even as he stepped in Angel's path.

"Who the hell are you," Angel snorted, pausing to examine Adam's wiry frame. Tara sighed, she had realised exactly two things in the last few seconds; the first one being Angel was still Angel, the second one being Angel had just met Adam in a bad mood; not a good thing.

Putting a restraining hand on Adam's arm, Tara inserted herself between the two, "Um…hi, Angel," she said, smiling shyly.

Angel inhaled, his eyes going round with astonishment. "You're alive," he said in wonderment, "I don't understand….has Willow gone off the rails again?" he added, his surprise turning to disapproval as he folded his arms.

"Oh…no…um, I don't think so…I've been a little out of touch…listen, can we move this conversation to somewhere a bit more private?" Tara stuttered as she eyed the gathering crowd listening in.

Realising they had an audience, Angel glared pointedly at the crowd, "Don't you people have work to do?" he demanded. Turning to Tara as the crowd melted away, his expression softened, "It's nice to see you again, Tara," he said, "Sorry about the not-so-warm welcome. We're a bit on edge at the moment…a lot has happened in the last year."

Tara's heart sank as she saw the shadow pass through Angel's eyes. "It's…it's not Buffy, is it?" she asked, too scared to mention Willow's name. "I mean, I saw the crater and…"

Angel's hand squeezed her shoulder. "Buffy's okay," he said reassuringly, "And so is Willow. Come on, let's go into my office. "

"Yes, let's do," Adam said smoothly, from behind her.

"Angel's head jerked up. "I don't believe we've met," he said, his voice hardening.

"Adam Pierson, at your service; and you, I believe, are Angel. The vampire with a soul," Adam said laconically.

Angels eyes swivelled to meet hers, "Friend of yours?" he asked rhetorically.

Tara smiled apologetically, "'fraid so."

"Figures," Angel muttered as he led the way into his office…

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**Paris****, Summer of 2002**

****

"No, no, _no,_" Methos said, lifting his hand to his head in exasperation. "Not like that - _first_ you lunge, then you parry," lifting his sword, he quickly demonstrated. "See what I mean? If you do it the other way around, you'll get skewered."

Tara nodded silently, taking up position; slowly, she repeated the sequence. "Better?" she asked hopefully, lifting the sword point upward.

"Much better," Methos said with relief, "Now, try it from the top…this time with more speed."

Again, Tara moved went through the steps of the kata, her face a study in concentration. "_She's getting better_," Methos admitted to himself, "_But she's a long way from being proficient_." Methos ticked off the small errors and hesitations with detachment; she had grace, and a surprising amount of strength and stamina, but her reflexes needed more speed. He made a mental note to step up their sparring practices and, noticing the small dip in her lunges, also decided to look into a lighter blade…maybe something along the lines of what Amanda used. He resolved to call her that night and ask her who her sword smith was; hopefully, he was still alive. If not, well, he was sure Joe could dig up the names of a few good smiths; the watchers kept track of such things.

As the kata came to close, he stepped forward and handed her a towel. "You're improving," he volunteered, "But your speed still needs work."

"I tried to pick up the pace," Tara said, "But then I started making mistakes and…" she finished the sentence with a shrug of frustration.

"It'll come with practice," Methos assured her. "Take five minutes, and then we'll spar."

Tara pouted and Methos raised an eyebrow even as he inwardly commiserated with her, "Five minutes, Tara; the sooner done, the sooner finished." Watching as she laid the sword on its stand and left for the kitchen, Methos dwelled on his student's chances of surviving the game. Despite the occasional protest, she was quite diligent in her training; she didn't even complain too much when he dragged her out of the bed at six o'clock in the morning to go for her run. No, that wasn't the problem; with more time and practice, Tara will become more than capable of defending herself. The question was: would she be willing to take a life in order to save her own?

Methos wasn't so sure she was.

The door swung open, and Methos looked up to Tara re-enter the room, a glass of orange juice in her hand. "I'm ready," she declared, placing the glass on a stool in the corner.

"_Let's see how ready you are, __Tara_" he thought as he raised his blade and waited. Lifting her sword from its cradle, she took up position in the middle of the floor and swung the sword experimentally to reacquaint herself with its weight. Once satisfied, she raised her sword in the traditional salute, then lunged.

"First mistake," Methos told her as he easily parried the thrust; "Never make the first move if you can possibly avoid it, and _never_ reach in that close to your opponent's range. That way, he can't do this—" stepping in, he slid through her defences and nicked her shoulder before bouncing back out of her reach. Tara stumbled back in surprise. As well she might, Methos thought grimly, he'd never drawn blood before. "Sword up," he barked, seeing the tip dip slightly as she skittered to halt, uncertain what to do. "Never let your guard down."

Her eyes narrowing, she lifted her sword, the serious look on her face telling him she knew what was happening. Slowly he circled her, watching as she turned on her feet so to face him. "What do you do now?" he asked.

"I wait for you to make the first move," she answered lowly, her lips a thin, determined line.

"Bright girl—" lightening fast, he needled the tip of her sword, nodding with approval as she twisted her sword away and stepped back; she was learning. Again, he struck, and again she twisted her sword away; but this time he followed through with an undercut, nicking her arm. Wincing she took a hasty step back, but this time she kept her sword up. "Good, good," he murmured, "But what you would do if I did this—" Moving to strike, he waited until she raised her arm to parry, then ducked underneath, coming up behind her. Swiftly, he put his sword to her neck, pressing it into her jugular. Tara froze, trying not to swallow as she lowered her sword.

"Game over," he said softly, lifting the sword from her neck.

Tara exhaled sharply before spinning swiftly on her heels and glaring at him. "Was that supposed to be some kind of lesson?" she demanded angrily.

"Pretty much, yes," he said, propping the tip of his sword on the floor. "Every single time you face another immortal, he…or she…will be older than you, faster than you, more willing to kill than you. The only way out of the game is in a pine box, keep that in mind..." Not trusting himself to say anything else, he abruptly looked away and stalked across the practice room. Today, he had done what he could to show her she had to kill to survive; now all he could do was teach her how to use a sword and hope for the best.

**Los Angelus, Summer of 2003**

Slowly, Angel leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on the table as he made a bridge of his fingers. "So let me get this straight, _you_ are an immortal," he said softly.

"Um, yes," said Tara shyly, her eyes skirting to the tall, thin figure standing by the shelves as she perched on the edge of her chair.

"The living, breathing, _human_ kind of immortal…"

"U-huh."

"Wesley, help me out here," Angel sighed, slumping back into his chair. "Why haven't I heard of these guys before?"

The ex-watcher shuffled in his chair as he cleared his throat. "A variety of reasons, I suspect," he said, "Mostly because there is no discernable difference between a mortal human and an immortal one. Other than the whole coming-back-from-the-dead-thing, that is. And I'm guessing a vampire wouldn't notice this unless they stuck around after they killed one…or tried to turn one."

"That ever happen?" Angel asked, curious.

"Not that I've heard of," Wesley admitted. "And Wolfram and Hart have no record of it either."

"But you've heard of immortals before?" Angel pressed, leaning forward in his chair.

"They were mentioned at the watcher academy, yes," Wesley said, rubbing his eyes. "Primarily because of the presence of the other watcher society…"

"Wait a minute, there's another watcher society; why haven't I heard of them?"

"There's no reason you would have," Wesley said with a shrug, "The only thing the two societies have in common is a name; there is no other connection. Sometimes though, they start keeping tabs on a vampire, accidentally mistaking them for an immortal. Hence the little lecture at the academy. The part line is; if you spot a watcher tracking your target, distract him while you eliminate the vampire."

"So this other watcher society has no idea about the existence of vampires?" Angel asked.

"Not as far as we know," Wesley confirmed, "Of course, Tara and her friend here might know differently…" He looked at Tara expectantly.

"Um, I don't really know," Tara murmured, glancing once more at the other immortal, who was now closely examining the Ming vase he'd picked up from the shelf.

Immortals and their watchers don't exactly socialise," the immortal drawled in his dry, British accent, glancing up briefly from the vase. "In fact, most immortals are unaware of their watcher's existence."

"But you know about them, don't you?" Angel asked astutely. The immortal shrugged as he placed the vase back on the shelf and carefully picked up the Sumerian tablet next to it. Angel suppressed a frisson of irritation. Who was this guy? And why did Tara look to him every time he asked a question? "So who are you _really_, Mr Pierson?" he asked pointedly.

"I'm Tara's teacher," he murmured quietly as he flipped the tablet over, "You do know what that is, don't you, Mr Wyndham-Price?" he added, shooting Wesley a piercing look before dropping his eyes to the tablet. "By the way, you do know this is a fake, don't you? A very old fake, but a fake nonetheless…"

Actually, Angel _did_ know it was a fake. The tablet's value wasn't in its authenticity, but in what it hid under its thin veneer of clay; a very old and very powerful amulet which could destroy ten city blocks if handled incorrectly. "Thank you for telling me," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm, "Now could you _please_ return it to the shelf."

The corner of the immortal's lips curled up in a glimmer of a smile, but he placed the tablet back on the shelf. Angel let out an involuntary breath of relief. Tara may call this guy a friend, but there was something about him which set his teeth on edge. The phrase 'wolf in sheep's clothing' sprung to mind as the immortal moved onto the next shelf and picked up an Egyptian ceremonial dagger. With difficulty, Angel dragged his eyes away as Pierson tested the point of the dagger, filling the room with the smell of blood. This guy was really getting on his nerves…

"…so you see, I was wondering if you had an address; though a phone number would be good too."

"Huh?" Angel muttered, tuning into Tara's voice as she reached the end of her sentence.

"I asked if you had Willow's address," she repeated helpfully, "If that's okay, I mean…" she trailed off.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Angel muttered as he pressed the intercom, "Harmony, could you track down Willow's current address and phone number?"

"_Sure thing, boss_," Harmony's voice thrilled through the speaker. Angel shook his head in bemusement. He still couldn't believe Harmony was his secretary; he kept on meaning to replace her from the secretarial pool but, for some strange reason, he never got around to it…

"_Bloody hell_!"

****

Angel jumped in his seat, then curled his fingers over the edge of the desk as he bit back a curse. "Spike, how many times have I told you _not to do that?"_

Spike ignored him as he strode through the desk. "Wicca, you're alive," he said excitedly as he passed a ghostly hand through Tara's arm.

"Spike, you're…not…" Tara answered hesitantly as she got to her feet.

"Saved the world, died, came back a ghost," he said succinctly, "And you?"

"Got shot, died, came back an immortal."

"Nothing new there, then," Spike said with a grin. "So, does Red know? Coz I reckon she'll drop that Kennedy chick like a hot potato when she realises you're still breathing…what? What did I say?"

Angel winced as he saw the stricken expression on Tara's face. "I hadn't gotten around to mentioning that yet, _Spike_," he said shortly.

"Oh," uttered Spike, "Ooooh…well, how was I supposed to know that? Nobody tells me anythin' around 'ere. Listen, luv, cheer up; the bint isn't even in your league. All you 'ave to do is snap your fingers and Red will come runnin'…"

"It's all right, Spike," Tara interrupted. "I mean, it's been over a year…and I wouldn't have wanted her to pine after me. I'm glad she's been able to move on…"

"Bugger that," Spike snorted, "A year, a century, makes no bloomin' difference…Red still loves you, pet. Nuthin' will change that. This Kennedy bint is just….passin' time." Spike waved his arms in the air to punctuate his words as he began to pace the room, "And who the bleeding 'ell are _you_?" he added, veering off from his course as he noticed Pierson for the first time.

"Adam Pierson, a friend of Tara's. I'd offer to shake hands but…"

"And what kind of friend is that, mate," Spike asked suspiciously

"The immortal kind," Pierson answered evenly, "Why do you ask?"

Angel sighed and buried his head in his hands as he wondered if his day could get any worse.

"BOSS!"

"This better be good, Harmony," Angel snapped as his 'secretary' barrelled into the room.

"Sorry, boss," she said excitedly, "I did mean to knock, honest I did, but I thought you'd want to know about it as soon as possible."

"Know about _what_ as soon as possible?" Angel prompted, attempting to hold onto the last dregs of his patience.

"About the apocalypse, of course."

For a beat, the room was deathly silent.

"Must be Tuesday, then," Spike piped up cheerfully.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors note:**** From the amount of reviews I got for the last chapter, I'm guessing a lot of people liked it! Here are my answers to a few of your questions: **

**The B/A versus B/S situation – sorry guys, this one issue I'm not even going to _attempt_ to resolve in this story; that would be a novel in itself! For the purposes of this story, Buffy is still cookie dough…though I might have a little fun by introducing the Italian 'immortal' just to see Angel and Spike pout (What can I say? They look sexy when they pout!) **

**Joe spilling the beans about Cassandra: Unlikely, I know, but still more likely than _Methos_ telling ****Tara****. I did toy with the idea of Cassandra telling her in person, but I felt that it might change the tone of the story so I used a little dramatic license (I wanted ****Tara**** to be indignant, but not so angry that she'd storm off). In my defence, ****Tara**** still doesn't know the whole truth; she did get the edited version, after all. **

**Um, that's it! On with the story…this is the chapter with the 'plot' in it, by the way!**

****

****

**Chapter 4**

**Los Angelus, Summer of 2003**

Tara watched bemusedly as Angel swung into action. "Wes, find Gunn; see if he's heard anything on the grapevine," Angel said grimly, jumping to his feet, "You'd better find Fred too, see if she has anything in the lab which would pick up any strange vibrations in the air… oh, and get Lorne to speed up his 'auditions'. I don't want to comb the city looking for a big bad , only to find our apocalypse-happy demon is the guy down in filing—" Frowning, Angel distractedly looked at Harmony, who was waving her hand in the air impatiently. "_Yes,_ Harmony, what is it?"

"What shall I tell him, boss."

Angel looked at her blankly. "Tell who, Harmony?"

"Giles, of course, he's still waiting for an answer."

"Wait a minute…_Giles_ is the one who told you there's going to be an apocalypse?"

"This means its going to be a bad one," observed Wesley.

"Better get out the big guns," agreed Angel as he picked up the phone. "Which line is he on?" he asked, looking at Harmony pointedly.

"He's not on the phone, silly," said Harmony, hands on hips.

Angel sighed, "Did you at least get a phone number?" he pleaded.

"Why would I do that?" asked a bewildered Harmony.

Angel closed his eyes and counted to ten. "So I can phone him back, Harmony," he eventually said through gritted teeth.

""But why would you phone him when he's standing right in the…ah, I left that bit out, didn't I?" she said sheepishly, taking a step back.

"Let me see if I understand this correctly…_you left Giles standing in the lobby_." Angel bit out the words slowly as, with deliberate care, he placed the receiver back on the phone

"Should I have given him a chair…I know should have given him a chair…I'll just go and do that now, shall I?" Harmony babbled, making a break for the door,

"HARMONY!"

Tara jumped in her seat as Angel slammed his palms flat on the table. Harmony froze mid-step, smiling nervously as she slowly turned around. "Yes, boss?

"Just show Rupert in, will you?" Angel asked, visibly struggling to keep his anger under control. Hurriedly, the vampire fled the room and a momentary lull fell in her wake. "Find the others," Angel said urgently to Wesley, "Tell them to get here quick." Wesley nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

As Harmony's words hit home, Tara nervously got her feet and faced the door; Giles was _here_.

Harmony's voice drifted into the room as the door slowly swung open. "…I mean, how was I to know I was supposed to show you through. I'm not a mind reader, am I? It's always 'do this, do that, where is my mug of blood'..."

"Harmony, please shut up," Giles' voice irritably answered. "You're giving me a headache."

"I'm just saying…"

"Bloody hell, woman," pushing past her, Giles strode into the room. "Angel we've got to talk…Tara?" His step faltered, the blood draining from his face.

"Hi Giles," Tara said, wincing as she heard the shake in her voice. "How've you been?" "_How've you been?"_ she said to herself incredulously, "_He's just seen a dead woman and that's the best you can do…"_

"Tara…" taking a hesitant step forward, Giles stared hard at her face. "Tara!" A slow, joyous smile spread across his face as realisation dawned. In three long strides, he crossed the room and swept her up into a hug, "It's good to see you, child," Giles said softly, squeezing her tight. "It's so good to see you…"

"Giles," she said hoarsely; she couldn't believe it. Giles was hugging her. Good, strong, dependable Giles; Tara closed her eyes and savoured the moment.

"'Allo Rupes, long time no see."

"Spike," Giles voice became several degrees cooler as he loosened his hold on Tara and eyed the blonde vampire, "Still alive, I see."

"Still dead, actually," the vampire corrected him with a sniff, "Unfortunate side-effect of being burnt to a crispy crisp."

"Indeed." Giles muttered dismissively. Giles never did have much time for Spike, Tara thought sadly.

"Um…Rupert…I hate to bring this up right now but Harmony said you mentioned something about an Apocalypse?" Angel asked.

"Oh, yes, quite," Giles glanced briefly at Angel before smiling back at her. "We have a lot to talk about," he said, "You're not going anywhere, are you? There is so much you have to tell me…like how you're you still alive?"

Tara's eyes slid to the quiet figure leaning against the bureau in the corner, Adam hadn't spoken since Harmony's announcement. "It's your life," he said with a shrug, Tara felt a moment of misgiving. Did she have the right to swoop into Willow's life after she had finished her grieving and moved on? Doubt crept in as she remembered Spike's words. Willow had met someone.

As if understanding, Giles smiled reassuringly. "Everything will be okay, Tara, I promise," he said softly, "I know you've probably heard a few things but…just give a few hours of your time so we can catch up."

Sharply, Tara looked up to examine Giles's face. Why did she get the impression he wasn't talking about Willow's love life. Reluctantly, she realised this wasn't the time to talk about it. "Of course," she murmured, smiling softly, "It can wait…I can wait…apocalypses comes first." Her smile turned wry as she realised what she'd said. A good, old fashioned apocalypse; it was as if the last year never happened!

"Good!" said Giles, his tone turning brisk as he looked at Angel. "You better sit down for this," he declared as he took his own advice. "I've a few things to tell you about your new place of employment you're not going to like."

Angel grimaced. "I'll just add them to the long list I already have," he said sardonically as he eased back into his chair.

"_Hey_, it's not my fault they sent me 'ere in the mail," Spike protested, "Blame that on whoever's yankin' you chain 'round 'ere."

Tara's mouth twitched into an involuntary smile. "The mail?" she enquired softly.

"Long story, luv," muttered Spike, "One that definitely involves a bottle of Bourbon."

"Can we _please_ get back on track here, guys," muttered Angel. "We have the world to save, you know."

"Yes, please continue, Mr Giles," said Adam as he strolled up to the desk and grabbed himself a chair.

"I don't believe we've met," Giles said, his eyebrow rising enquiringly.

"This is Adam Pierson, Giles," Tara said hurriedly, heading off Adam. "He's a friend of mine."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Adam said as he stretched out his legs and folded his arms. "You mentioned something about an Apocalypse?"

Tara sighed as she saw the glance Giles exchanged with Angel. As the souled vampire shrugged, Giles began to speak. "The closing of the Hellmouth in Sunnydale had a few repercussions we didn't expect," he muttered, "Basically; it erased a lot of Wolfram and Hart's competition. Most of the more powerful demon factions kept their headquarters in Sunnydale - despite the high mortality rate among their employees because of Buffy. It gave then a certain standing amongst their brethren, I understand."

"But what has this got to do with the apocalypse," Angel asked.

"Well, as you know, the dream most demons hold close to their heart is to have the earth returned to him. The problem is, every species of demon has their own slant on how it should happen, with each sect wanting be the one left standing on top of the pile. The majority of apocalypses have been averted as a result. Infighting, you see; nobody wants to be beaten to the punch." Giles explained. "The Watcher's council tended to ignore this, they found the whole thing rather embarrassing, I assume; but now there is a rather large vacuum in the power struggle between factions and Wolfram and Hart have stepped in to fill it. Now they've consolidated their takeover bid, we're in big trouble."

"In what way, exactly," asked Angel, leaning forward.

"It seems Wolfram and Hart have their own dream of an apocalyptic future too, and they've already started to put their plan into play. In fact, we suspect they had a hand in the First's appearance in Sunnydale last year; speeding up the inevitable and all that. Tell me, would I be wrong in assuming it was Wolfram and Hart who gave you the amulet?"

"No, you wouldn't," Angel said quietly.

Hearing voices from outside the door, Tara stopped trying to make sense out of what Giles was saying and turned to see Wesley re-enter the room. "Sorry I took so long," the ex-watcher said apologetically as he stood aside to let those behind him in.

"It was my fault, really," said an attractive, slender girl with long brown hair as she walked into the room, "I was in the middle of a delicate experiment. " Shyly, she pushed her glasses up her nose.

"Well, there certainly was a lot of smoke," joked a tall, athletically built Afro-American as he strolled up to a chair and sat, "And I'm certain one of the beakers actually hissed at me!" Opening his briefcase on his lap, he produced a large sheaf of papers. "This is the report on all unusual occurrences in the last week," he pronounced as he handed the papers over the desk.

"Children, children," drawled a voice from the door, "Not in front of the guests," Tara's head swivelled back to the door and she swallowed a gasp. Seeing her expression, the demon smiled knowing. "It's the suit, isn't it?" he asked laconically as he entered the room, "I did tell my tailor lavender wasn't my colour but he insisted it brought out the green tones in my skin."

"That's Lorne," the bespectacled girl said softly as she pulled up a chair beside Tara, "Don't worry, he's a pussy cat…I'm Fred, by the way."

"Tara," Tara supplied.

"Yeah, I know, Wesley told me on the way here," Fred said, "Hello?" Turning her head, she gave Adam a shy smile.

"Hello," drawled Adam, "I'm Adam Pierson…but Wesley has probably told you that, too."

"He mentioned it, yes," Fred murmured, "So…you're an immortal?"

"That would be the technical description, yes," Adam said teasingly. Behind the desk, Angel sighed and gave Giles a meaningful look. Quietly, the watcher took off his glasses and began cleaning them as he continued.

"Yes, well, to make a long story short, the closing of the Hellmouth paved the way for Wolfram and Hart's version of the apocalypse," he said with a sigh. "And over the last few weeks they've put their plans in motion - fortunately for us, they hadn't counted on Buffy's rather daring plan to awaken the slayer powers in all the potentials," he added with grim satisfaction as he settled his glasses on his nose, "A fact which has bought us some time."

"How much time?" Tara asked worriedly.

"Four days."

Angel groaned, "When, where and how," he asked abruptly.

"Los Angeles, midday, and it involves something called the 'white room'…our information is rather sketchy, I'm afraid."

The gathered remnants of Angel Investigations groaned collectively.

"Something I said," Giles asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You could say that," Fred said, with some aspiration.

"The white room is…well, I don't know what the white room is but if you take the main elevator in the hall, you usually end up in it," Angel grumbled. "Kinda came with the property."

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Giles, "You mean its right here, in this very building?"

"It and its furry feline occupant," Angel confirmed as he played with the pen on the desk. "Let's go and have a chat, shall we…"

Wesley cleared his throat. "Actually, that might be a problem," he said. "Nobody has been able to get into the white room all morning."

"Please don't say what I think you're going to say, Wes," said Angel.

"It's gone," Wesley said, shrugging his shoulders, "And it's not the only thing missing. All our shamans, witches and warlocks have called in sick."

"Why am I only hearing this now," asked Angel, frustrated.

"I got the report only a few minutes ago," Wesley admitted, "And I've a funny feeling I wouldn't have found out for a few hours more if Rupert hadn't turned up. Guess they realised the jig was up."

"And I guess it's a good thing the others are on their way, then" Giles observed.

A nervous flutter rose in Tara's stomach, "The others?" she repeated.

"Oh yes, didn't I tell you? Willow and Xander are taking the first flight out from Rome tomorrow – and Buffy will be following on the afternoon flight after she's gathered up a few of the more proficient slayers."

"Oh," Tara muttered hoarsely, "I see."

**Paris****, Autumn of 2003**

****

"So, do you come here often?"

Tara looked up to see Lucy standing by the table, canteen tray in hand, and smiled as she saw the smirk hovering on her lips. "Monday to Friday, one o'clock sharp," she joked.

"Yeah, its getting to be a bit of a bore isn't it," Lucy said with a grin as she sat down. "I swear, if I have to conjugate another French verb, I'm going to scream."

Tara smiled shyly as she took another sip of her coffee. Lucy was one of the many American students who were on the French language course with her. "So…what are you doing tonight?" Lucy asked once she'd picked up her fork, "Only there's this gig on at the Olympic tonight – wanna come along?"

"I don't know…" Tara said unsurely, "I'm kinda busy…"

"You're _always_ busy," Lucy said expansively, "Come on, live a little. I don't bite – I promise." She added, crossing her heart.

Tara sighed; she liked Lucy, really she did, but she knew her fellow student wanted to be more than just friends. "Sorry Lucy, I'm just not ready to…"

"Hey, hey, hey, stop right there," Lucy interrupted, "I'm not asking you out on a date or anything; I got the message the last time. I'm just talking some good music, some bad beer…you know, _fun_."

Tara shook her head in amusement. "Maybe some other time," she murmured, knowing there wouldn't be another time. She wasn't ready yet and, by the time she would be, Lucy would have long left Paris and returned to her home in Louisiana.

Lucy smiled at her knowingly. "Hey, can't blame a girl for trying."

Embarrassed, Tara ducked her head pretended to be absorbed in her meal as her thoughts wandered to where they always inevitably went…Willow. In her mind, she conjured up her face; her bright smile, her lovely hair…a wave of loneliness washed over her as she tried to blink back the tears.

"It's okay to be sad you know, Tara," Lucy said softly, and Tara looked up to see her usual grin absent from her face. "I hadn't realised you were hurting that bad, honey; or I wouldn't have come on so strong. How about we start out again? Hi Tara, I'm Lucy, and if you ever need a friend to talk to, I'll listen; no strings attached." Solemnly, Lucy stuck out her hand and, with a wobbly smile, Tara reached out and shook it. "There, that's that settled," Lucy said briskly as the grin returned to her face, "By the way, have you seen the desert tray? It's scary, I tell you. They've got this green wobbly confection that I swear looked back at me when I stared at it…"

Tara laughed, and the rest of the meal passed in amiable chatter as they discussed their classmates and the Parisian weather…

****

****

**Los Angelus, Summer of 2003**

****

Methos was not happy. In fact, Methos was very unhappy indeed. With a sinking heart he watched as Tara avidly listened to Giles and Angel discussing their war plans. So much for picking up a phone number and leaving, Tara was as incapable of walking away from the 'good fight' as the Highlander was. Sighing, he let his eyes wander across the room, hoping to see something which would distract him from his current problem. Seeing the book Wesley had held on his lap earlier lying on the desk in front of him, he picked it up and casually looked through the pages. Funny, all the pages were blank…

Shrugging, he placed the book back on the table. In a day where he'd chatted with a vampire, met a demon and found out there was going to be an apocalypse, a blank book was on the bottom of his list of peculiar thing he'd seen that day. Absently, he wondered if the old Christian superstitions had some truth in them. What was the old saying again? Ah yes, 'If you don't believe in demons, they won't bother you'. Well, he was a believer for less than twenty-four hours and he was already up to his neck in them.

He wished Willow would hurry up and get here; maybe that way he might have a chance of convincing Tara to split this crazy town… Methos snorted, who was he kidding? Tara wasn't going anywhere. For all her gentle ways, there was a stubborn streak in his student a mile wide. Sourly, he tuned back into the conversation. He had a funny feeling knowing their plans might come in useful.

"…you see, the 'first' only appeared in the guise of dead people," Giles was explaining to Tara, "I suppose that, more than anything, should have tipped us off. When it appeared to Willow, it didn't use your face but that of some poor girl called Cassie. Of course, we realised when your body disappeared that…" Methos sat bolt upright in his chair. An entity which could take on the faces of dead people? He racked his brains for what Duncan and Joe had told him about Ahriman. With one glaring exception, all the people who'd appeared to Duncan were dead. Methos thought back to the day Richie died, everything had happened so fast…could it be that Duncan hadn't killed Richie after all? That he was already dead when Duncan 'killed' him…

"…you'd thought I'd been _what_?" Adam's eyes narrowed as he heard the distress in Tara's voice.

"Only for a moment, dear; I mean this _is_ Sunnydale we're talking about. We knew Warren shot you, of course, but when a body disappears from the morgue, one's first thought is vampires. For a while, we thought Spike may have…

"Oi!" The blonde vampire spluttered, "I'd have never done that to Wicca and you bloody well know it!"

"Yes, well, be that as it may; once Willow…calmed down we discovered the true sequence of events."

"So Willow knows my body…"

"No, dear, we thought it best not to upset her. As far as she is concerned, you're body was laid to rest in the university cemetery. Not a hard thing to arrange in Sunnydale; quite a lot of coffins were buried empty there."

Adam studied the watcher's face, why did he get the feeling there were a lot of things the watcher was leaving out. Things he didn't want to tell Tara for fear of upsetting her. Methos quietly resolved to have a few private words with Rupert Giles once he got the chance. Abruptly, he straightened up in his chair, "This…apocalypse," he asked softly, "How bad of an event are we actually talking about."

"We're talking world-wide annihilation," Giles said carefully, "Of humans, that is. The demons will feel quite at home in this brave new world, I assume."

"I don't think _I _would, though," Methos muttered under his breath. Noticing Angel's face twitch slightly, he realised he'd been overheard - damned vampire hearing. He decided to forge ahead. "So, what will happen, exactly," he enquired, struggling to keep his voice pleasant. "Are you expecting an invasion of demons or something a little more…abstract."

"A little of both, actually," the watcher admitted. "From what we understand, this 'white room' is some sort of nexus between dimensions. I'm sure Angel could explain it to you in more detail."

Methos turned his attention to the souled vampire, who glowered back. "Well?"

"Wolfram and Hart use the white room to talk to their 'upper' management" Angel said reluctantly, "As far as we can make out, these guys don't live in this dimension; or, to be more accurate, they _can't_ live in this dimension…help me out here, Wes."

"Well, I suppose the best way of describing it is as a room _between_ dimensions," the young Englishman explained, "A kind of neutral ground which is nowhere, yet everywhere..."

"I got to hand it to you, watcher," Spike said sarcastically, "You've got a lovely way of makin' a difficult idea totally indecipherable - could you try that again in plain English, mate."

Wesley threw the smirking vampire a dirty look, "As I was saying," he muttered, "The white room is the only place where the 'upper' management can meet with their subordinates as they can't manifest themselves on this plane."

"Hold on a moment," Methos interrupted, "Which one is it – dimension or plane? Maybe I'm wrong here, but isn't there a big difference? I mean, if they come from another dimension, its one thing, but if they come from another plane, then we could be dealing with something a lot larger…I mean, if my understanding of mystical philosophy is accurate…I read a lot," he finished lamely, aware he may have said too much.

"You're right, of course," Wesley said, giving Methos a thoughtful look. "But the truth is, we're not exactly sure; so we'll do what we always do."

"Which is?"

"Hope for the best, plan for the worst."

"Not exactly what I hoped to hear," Methos muttered.

"It's the best I can do, I'm afraid."

"We're still trying to figure things out, you see," Fred piped up helpfully.

"Okay, enough chit-chat," Angel declared, "Time to come up with a plan."

"Maybe the 'Powers-That-Be' can help," Fred suggested, "I'm surprised we haven't heard from them already."

"Their presence on this plane has been greatly weakened since the whole mess last month," Wesley explained, "Its doubtful we will be even to contact them; the usual doorways haven't functioned in weeks."

"Oh," said Fred hollowly, "Scratch that plan, then."

"_Scratch what plan?_" Methos wondered to himself as he listened bemusedly. It was as if he'd slipped into an alternative universe…or maybe he was dreaming…no such luck.

"We could track down some of the witches and warlocks," suggested the young lawyerly type in the expensive suit, "I'm guessing it isn't a coincidence they didn't turn up for work today. So they must know something."

"Good idea," Wesley said, nodding, "I'll get a list of their home addresses."

"At last, a plan," Angel declared, "Once we have the list, we'll start kicking in doors."

_"Insane,"_ thought Methos as he slumped into his seat,_ "They're all totally insane."_

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Looking at my reviews, I noticed one mentioned how difficult it would be to write ****Willow**** and ****Tara****'s reunion. As I wrote this chapter, I realised how right she was – but write it I did! Hopefully, I've made it believable. By the way, congratulations to the reviewer who noticed the groan-worthy pun (****Los Angeles****/ Los Angelus); what can I say? I take a childish delight in silly word games! Once again, I'd like thank you all for the positive feedback, it is GREATLY appreciated.**

**Now, here comes the melodrama…**

****

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**Chapter 5**

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**Los Angelus, Summer of 2003**

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Feeling like a drowned cat, Methos hunched against the sudden onslaught of rain, "Where the hell did _this_ come from?" he roared over the torrential downpour.

"Weather shaman," Fred shouted back helpfully, "Specialises in monsoons and hurricanes."

"Oh, well, that's all right then," Methos yelled sarcastically, "For a moment I thought it might be something serious!" An ominous crash came from above, and Methos looked up to see part of the roof missing, "How good is he at tornados" he asked nervously as he pressed himself against the wall.

"Pretty good!" Fred bellowed, "Just don't try to use any of the furniture as an anchor…"

"_Why am I here_?" Methos thought, reaching out to clutch at the doorframe as yet another piece of the roof spun into the air. "_Oh, yes, because __Tara__ is here…silly me…_" He should have known Tara would volunteer to help, he supposed; he just hadn't counted on her jumping so quickly into the fray. So, instead of having a nice, quiet beer at the hotel bar, he was now holding on for dear life in the kitchen of a nice suburban bungalow - which just happened to be inhabited by a shaman who liked to dance up a storm for a living. "_Well, I suppose this is better than the necromancer at the last house_," he thought with a shudder.

"Can you see the others?" Fred bawled as she crept along the wall towards him.

Methos craned his neck and looked down the Hallway, "No," he hollered, "Not a trace."

"That can't be good."

Methos bit back the choice remark on the tip of his tongue; the kid didn't deserve to feel the brunt of his frustration…_where the hell was __Tara_? He gave himself a mental slap for letting her out of his sight. This was the thanks he got for not kicking up a fuss when Angel divided them into teams to search the house; he with Fred, Tara with Giles. In hindsight, he realised he should have made more of an effort to be nice back at Wolfram and Hart; he knew damned well why he'd not been paired with Tara. They probably wanted to separate her from his bad influence….hmph.

It also occurred to him he was asked to search the kitchen because it was unlikely the shaman would be in it. He racked his mind, trying to remember which room Tara and Giles were assigned; ah yes, the first room to the right of the front door…the master bedroom, Angel had called it.

"Bloody interfering vampire," he muttered darkly, "If Tara has so much as _one_ hair out of place…"

"_What_ did you say?" Amy asked as she reached his side.

"I said the downpour really takes the charm out of the place," Methos yelled.

"Oh," Fred said doubtfully, "Yes…I suppose so…"

"_Bloody_ _'ell,_ its raining cats and dogs in 'ere, innit?"

Methos shook his head ruefully as the ghostly vampire materialised in the room; another thing he still wasn't used to. With a cocky smirk, the vampire walked through the kitchen table and leaned against the wall beside them. "You seem to be in a spot of bother 'ere." He observed gleefully, holding out his palm. Not able to stop himself, Methos watched in fascination as the heavy droplets passed through his 'flesh'.

Fred pushed her sodden hair out of her eyes, "Spike, can you find out where Angel…"

"No!" Methos interrupted harshly, "Find Tara…the bloody vampire can look after himself!"

The blond vampire eyed him sharply through narrowed eyes. "Right you are, mate," he eventually muttered, seeming satisfied with whatever he'd seen in Methos' face. "I'll find the little Wiccan and report back…and then I'll find Peaches," he added as Fred opened her mouth. Silently he slid through the wall, popping up in the hall a few moments later.

"She's supposed to be in the room to the right of the front door," Methos yelled after him. Spike raised his hand in acknowledgment and strutted down the hallway.

"Tara is going to be okay, you know," shouted Fred above the din, "Giles will guard her with his life."

"No offence, but that doesn't exactly fill me with confidence," Methos answered grimly.

"If half the stories Angel and Wes have told me about him are true, Giles is a hell of a lot tougher than he looks, Mr Pierson," Fred said, "And if Angel didn't believe he was able to handle himself, he wouldn't have let him come along."

Methos eyed the delicate looking girl clinging onto the doorframe beside him and wondered how high Angel's standards were when it came to such things; his thoughts obviously showed on his face.

"_I'm_ a lot tougher than I look too, Mr Pierson," she said as she struggled against the gale to pull herself to her full height.

"I'll have to take your word on that," he said with a glimmer of amusement, "And my name is Adam, Fred. People only call me Mr Pierson when I'm in trouble."

"And you don't think this qualifies as being in trouble," she shouted, a smile appearing on her face.

"You may have a point!" he yelled, ducking as a lamp zinged through the doorway.

"_Found_ her," Spike announced as he slid through the wall, "Safe as houses, she is; her and Giles 'ave a firm grip on that window frame…found Peaches too, he was in the room between 'ere and there," he explained, gesturing at the wall behind him. "He and the watcher boy 'ave the shaman cornered. Was touch and go for a minute, what with those lightenin' bolts and all, but he seems to running out of juice…the last one just went 'pffft'…"

As if to prove his words, the rain abruptly stopped, and Methos breathed a sigh of relief as the howling gale eased. "Well, that was…interesting," he muttered as he loosened his grip on the doorway.

"That's nothing, mate," Spike said casually, "You should see a Hellmouth open."

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you," Methos retorted as he stalked down the hallway.

"Just sayin'" the blond vampire said conversationally as he fell into step beside him, "No need to bite my 'ead off…or should I say 'chop it off'?" he added with a sly sideways glance.

"Somebody's been talking out of school," Methos observed darkly.

"The watcher boy may 'ave mentioned sumthin' when you were looking the other way."

"I'll just bet he did," Methos said grimly. "No doubt he was also the one who suggested Tara should be paired off with someone else on this little escapade."

"Maybe…"

"Hey guys, wait for me," Fred said as she caught up with them.

"Sorry, luv," Spike said, "I was just tryin' to keep up with Mister-in-a-hurry 'ere!"

Sighing, Methos slowed his pace as he neared the other end of the hall, "Tara?"

"Here," said Tara tiredly as she appeared in the doorway, "Giles is hurt; he was hit by a piece of flying glass."

"Is it bad?" asked Methos as he stepped by her into the room.

"Flesh wound," Giles grunted, blood seeping through his finger as he clutched his side, "But I'll need stitches soon or blood loss will be a problem."

Wordlessly, Methos pulled his hand away and opened his shirt; the watcher had made a pretty accurate self-diagnosis. "I presume you guys carry a first aid kit when you go on these little jaunts," he asked over his shoulder as he probed the wound.

"It's in the van – I'll go get it," Fred volunteered, running out of the room.

"You know how to do this?" Giles asked under his breath.

Methos nodded, "I used to have a little general practice not so far from here in the eighteen hundreds," he said with a wry smile, "Sewing up wounds like this was practically routine…all those saloon brawls, you see."

The watcher smiled thinly. "Dare I ask when you got your license?"

"Trust me; you don't want to know…not until _after_ I patch you up, anyway," Methos said dryly.

"Is everything okay in here?" Methos looked up and raised an eyebrow as he saw Angel standing in the doorway, an unconscious body casually draped over one shoulder. Seeing his expression, Angel shrugged, "What can I say, he didn't want to come quietly – you okay, Rupert?"

"Nothing a needle and thread won't fix," Giles assured him, "How many houses do we still have on the list?"

"Another six, and then we're done," Angel told him, "But I think you're out of the ring for the rest of night."

"I'm afraid I have to agree with you," Giles said, grimacing.

"Got it," Fred announced, ducking past Angel. Quickly, she snapped open the box and knelt down beside them.

Angel readjusted the shaman's weight on his shoulder "This guy is getting a little heavy, I'll meet you in the van…coming, Tara?"

"Tara will stay with me, if you don't mind," Methos said sharply, looking up from Giles's wound.

"I think we should leave that decision up to Tara, don't you?" the vampire drawled, looking at Tara expectantly.

"Actually, I think I'm going to stay here…with Giles," Tara said softly.

Angel hesitated, before nodding slowly, "I'll see you outside," he said, pulling away from the door.

"Um…I'll wait outside too," Fred said, sensing the tension in the air.

"What was that about?" Tara asked once Fred had left the room.

"I don't know what you mean," Methos muttered as he threaded a needle.

"You know exactly what I mean, Adam," Tara said, folding her arms.

"Can we talk about this later," Methos asked as he dipped the needle in alcohol, then cleaned the wound; "I'm kind of in the middle of something, here."

"Don't mind me," Giles said through gritted teeth, "Argue away; I'm in too much pain to care at the moment!"

"Be that as it may, I'd rather have a little quiet while I do this," Methos said absently as he pierced Giles's skin with the needle.

"Fine," Tara sighed, perching on the corner of the tattered bed, "But I'm not going to let this go, you know."

"Oooh, I didn't think you would," Methos drawled sarcastically.

**Paris****, Autumn**** of 2002**

"Got a hunter in town; goes by the name of Davis," were the first words out of Joe's mouth as Methos propped his elbows on the bar.

Methos glanced over his shoulder to see if Tara could hear. Seeing that she'd snagged a table near the stage, he turned to look at Joe speculatively. "Is he looking for anyone in particular," he murmured.

"He's the kind who goes for a type, not a particular person," Joe said lowly as he opened a bottle of Methos' favourite beer and placed it in front of him.

"The 'older' type?" Methos asked, raising an eyebrow.

Joe shook his head, "The _younger_ type," he muttered darkly, jerking his head in Tara's direction.

"I see," Methos said, drawing in a breath, "She's not ready for it, you know."

"I know," Joe sighed, "Which is why I'm telling _you_," he added, giving him a meaningful look."

"Point taken," Methos said wryly, "I don't suppose you have an address - or are you wearing your watcher hat today?"

"I wouldn't have mentioned it if I was, would I have?" Joe said softly as he slid a piece of paper over the counter, "His watcher reported in this morning. Apparently he followed a certain young woman from her class today…right to her door – your door. You'd better work fast; this guy doesn't hang around once he's acquired a target."

"Thanks, Joe," Methos murmured as he pocketed the address, "I owe you for this."

Joe shrugged, "What can I say; I've kinda grown attached to the kid. Hell, she even likes my music – want me to keep her busy while you slip out?"

"That would probably be for the best," Methos agreed, "Just don't tell her what I'm up to…"

"I think I've already figured that one out for myself," Joe said dryly as he opened a bottle of coke and grabbed a glass off the shelf, "I'll tell her Amanda is in one of her scrapes and you're going to bail her out, or something. She's heard enough stories of Amanda's escapades to believe it!"

"And most of them from Amanda," added Methos with a grin, "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"You'd better be," Joe murmured with a small smile, "I really don't want to tell Tara her teacher's dead."

"Yeah, that would be a pain in the neck, wouldn't it?"

Joe groaned. "Oh _man_, that was _bad_."

"Do you think I need to work on my routine?" Methos asked innocently.

"Just don't give up the day job, whatever you do!" Joe said with a smirk.

With a wordless smile, Methos slid away from the counter, watching Joe intercept Tara out of the corner of his eye as he slipped out the door. Once outside, he headed for his car and jumped in. He took the piece of paper from his pocket and crumpled it the moment he memorized the address, it was a ten minute drive. Starting the engine, he pulled out of the lane and onto the main street. He figured he had an hour, maybe two, before Tara began to wonder.

He tapped his fingers on the wheel as went through his options. If he targeted new immortals, as Joe said, he'll probably keep a wary eye out for Tara's teacher…which would be him. Even the nastier immortals don't react well when their students are hunted; and part of the thrill for Davis probably was outmanoeuvring the young immortal's mentor. No, he was unlikely to take him by surprise, so he wouldn't bother trying.

He felt Davis's presence even before he got out of the car, the low hum raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Switching off the engine, he got out and eyed the unlit path which wound its way through the substantial and overgrown front garden. There was a strong possibility he would be ambushed on his way to the door. Quickly, Methos scanned the street for onlookers and, satisfied he was alone, gently slid his sword out of its scabbard as he approached the gate.

With a low, whining creak, the gate swung open and Methos winced at the noise; so much for the silent approach. Warily, he crept down the lane, eyeing each shrub and tree as he passed it. Nothing moved, but that was no guarantee Davis wasn't there.

He was a few steps from the door when he heard it, a low rustle to his left. Spinning on his heels, he raised his sword just in time to block the blade. "Davis, I presume," he bit out.

"You have me at a disadvantage," the immortal said.

"Yes, I do, don't I? Methos agreed, knocking Davis's blade aside as he jumped away from the door. The last thing he wanted was to fight with his back against a wall.

Davis obviously had the same thought, as he quickly sidestepped into the lawn. "Her teacher, I suppose," he asked rhetorically.

"Bright boy," Methos muttered, springing forward.

The night air filled with the sound of steel against steel as they both fought to gain the upper hand. Methos had a slight advantage in technique, but Davis was a large man with a lot of power behind his blows. "_If this had been a fight between Davis and Tara, she'd be dead by now_," Methos thought grimly.

Realising Davis was hoping to wear him down with his superior strength, Methos changed tactics and went on the offensive; picking up speed as he pressed his attack. Taken aback by Methos' sudden onslaught, the immortal backed away as he fought to parry the quick blur of Methos' blade. At last, Davis faltered, and Methos slashed at his chest. A thin line of blood seeped through Davis's shirt as he doubled over, clutching at the wound instinctively. Without hesitation, Methos raised his sword over the immortals head and struck.

With a sickening thud, the head fell to the ground, Davis's body joining it a moment later. Grimly, Methos plunged the tip of his sword into the grass and braced himself for the quickening…

**Los Angelus, 2003**

****

Weary to the bone, Tara crawled out the side-doors of the van and blinked in the light of the new dawn. Turning around, she offered her arm to Giles, who gratefully took it. "Bloody hell, I haven't been this knocked about since…well…Sunnydale," Giles muttered, "I never thought I'd be so glad to see the front door of Wolfram and Hart."

"Cheer up, you'll be back to your old hate/hate relationship with this unhallowed pile of bricks before the day is out," her teacher said as he jumped out after them and eyed the building.

Aren't you going to stay in the van and help them unload the captives in the garage?" Tara asked pointedly.

"Now why would I do that?" Adam asked amiably. "They seem to have everything covered. Besides, I thought you might need some help assisting Giles to the elevator."

Tara eyed the bland expression on Adam's face suspiciously but decided to let it drop. He had been acting oddly all night, Tara realised, but it got worse after the incident with the weather shaman. Tara shook her head; she was too tired to worry about it now, she could barely summon the energy to put one foot in front of the other. They entered the lobby, attracting attention because of their bedraggled state. Only in Wolfram and Hart could a seven foot, horned demon walk in through the door without attracting a second glance…but if it wore dirty shoes…

She didn't know what attracted her attention to the stunning brunette sitting on the lobby couch, maybe it was the look of absolute horror on her face, or maybe it was her absolute stillness; but when Giles looked up and muttered the woman's name, she was curiously unsurprised.

"Oh Tara," Giles murmured as they collectively came to a halt inside the doorway. "I'm so sorry. They were supposed to take a later flight…I thought I would have time to prepare her…and I totally forgot she would bring Kennedy with her; how utterly stupid of me..."

"It's okay," Tara interrupted gently, drawing a wobbly breath as Kennedy slowly rose from her seat, "I can…handle this. Folding her trembling hands to steady them, she stepped forward to meet Willow's new lover.

"You _are_ who I think you are, aren't you?" Kennedy asked bluntly. "Tara?" Silently, Tara nodded, and Kennedy crossed her arms. "Well, you're not a vampire, and you're obviously not dead, so…what the hell are you?" Helplessly, Tara looked at Adam, her eyes pleading for help."

"She's human," Adam said calmly, "With a few extra quirks…much like you, from what I understand."

The slayer bristled. "Is that _so_? As far as I know, Slayers don't rise from the dead….well, not often, anyway," she muttered, belatedly remembering Buffy's history.

"Kennedy, she's human," Giles sighed, "Relax, take a deep breath."

The tension eased from Kennedy's shoulders as Giles spoke. "How did you expect me to react?" she said to the watcher "I mean, she's supposedly Willow's dead lover, returned from the grave. Excuse me if I'm not jumping for joy…no offence." She added, remembering Tara's presence.

Tara shrugged as she shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "Is she here?" she asked quietly.

"She's here," Kennedy admitted, her expression suspicious. "So…why _are_ you here? Did you think you could just to stroll in here, after letting her think you were dead for an entire year, and pick up where you left off?

"It's not like that!" Tara protested, "They were…reasons."

"Reasons?" Kennedy growled, anger flashing in her eyes. "That's all you can say? You left her just when she _needed you the most_. Do you know what happened; do you know what she _did_—"

"_Kennedy_, that's enough!" Giles said, cutting her off.

"Giles, what is she talking about?" Tara asked hoarsely, panicking as all the various scenarios ran through her mind.

"It can wait, Tara," Giles said firmly.

"And how do figure that, Giles?" Kennedy asked sarcastically, "She's here, _in the building. _Any moment now, Willow's going to walk in here and find _her_ standing here, alive and whole. How do you think she's going to react? She _still_ has nightmares about what she did…." Kennedy paused to draw in a deep breath. "Sorry," she sighed, regaining some of her poise, "This is just a lot to take in."

"It can't be helped, Kennedy," Giles said softly, "What's done is done. We'll deal with it as it comes…and so will Willow."

A familiar laugh echoed though the lobby and, slowly, Tara looked up. Across the lobby, Willow's hair glinted under the electric light as she tilted her head up to look at Xander, who was walking by her side. Stifling the urge to run, Tara stood her ground as her heart drummed in her chest. Guilt flooded through her as she realised how happy Willow looked as she gossiped with her best friend. Once again, she questioned her decision to re-enter Willows life; was she being selfish? Yes, she was, Tara admitted to herself, but she still couldn't find the courage to walk away.

It was Xander who noticed her first, his jaw dropping as he came to a dead stop. Slowly, Willow followed his gaze, her hand reaching out blindly to her friend as she looked into Tara's eyes, her mouth moving soundlessly as her legs buckled beneath her. Time seemed to trickle to a stop. "I thought you were dead." Willow's finally said, not taking her eyes off Tara as Xander helped her to the couch.

Impulsively, Tara took a step forward, and Willow shrank back, her stricken eyes brimming with tears. "I killed him, you know," she whispered, her lips quivering. "He shot you, so I killed him….oh goddess, _what have I done_?

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: Once again, I'd like to thank all those who so thoughtfully reviewed. Here are my answers to a few of your questions: The flashback scenes are supposed to show the changes and events in ****Tara****'s life during the year she was absent. Hopefully, as each chapter goes by, you will get a clearer picture of how she's changed. I didn't write this story chronologically because I felt it might get a little long-winded, taking at least ten chapters before ****Tara**** arrived at Wolfram and Hart's door! As for the changes in Tara's appearance, I'm hoping to reveal that in a future chapter in a scene from Willow's P.O.V.**

**That's it! This chapter is not very action filled, I'm afraid; certain conversations and confessions needed to happen before I could move this story forward…here we go…**

**Chapter 6**

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**Los Angelus, Summer 2003**

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****

"_What do I say_?" Tara thought numbly as her voice froze, "_What_ **_is_**_ there to say…oh, dear goddess._" Helplessly, she watched as Willow sobbed silently on the couch, wishing she could somehow find the words to ease her pain.

"She's in shock," Xander said softly as he put a comforting arm around his childhood friend. "Maybe I should bring her upstairs…"

"No," Willow murmured into his chest before slowly pulling away. "I'll be fine, I just…It's really you, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's me," Tara said softly, cautiously sitting on the couch beside her.

Tentatively, Willow's hand reached out and covered hers, "It's warm," she whispered, "You're really here…"

"U-huh," Tara said, smiling as she delicately tucked an errant strand of Willow's hair behind her ear, "It's me."

A glimmer of a smile showed on Willow's lips, "I missed you," she said, her voice barely audible as her fingers curled around Tara's hand tightly.

Tara's breath caught in her throat. "I missed you too."

Drawing a ragged breath, Willow let go of her grip on Tara's hand. "A lot has happened since last year…a lot has changed."

Tara saw Kennedy shift uncomfortably from the corner of her eye. "So I've heard," she sighed, "Don't worry, we have plenty of time to talk about it."

"Before or after the apocalypse?" Willow asked with a wry smile.

"Hey, that's a whole three days away," Tara joked weakly, "Its more time than we usually have."

"Which reminds me…" Wiping the tears from her eyes, Willow looked up at Giles. "Have you ever heard of the light of R'Nathnor?"

The light of R'Nathnor," Giles repeated thoughtfully, "I believe I may have read something about it in the Chronicles of Parnoe."

"…And that would be?" prompted Adam, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"A Swiss sorcerer who lived during the 13th century," Giles explained, "He had rather ambiguous ethics, unfortunately. One was never sure which side of the fence he sat on, if you catch my drift - but he did keep a detailed journal during his life. The watcher's council use it as a source book for medieval artefacts. He was quite fond of them."

"I've never read it," Willow said, wrinkling her nose, "But I had a nose around in Wolfram' and Hart's library when we waiting for you to arrive and found a prophecy which mentioned it."

"Well, from what I remember, the light of R'Nathnor is a force for good," Giles muttered.

"That makes sense," Willow said, nodding, "The prophecy was a little vague but one verse caught my attention, 'In the light of R'Nathnor dwells hope,

In the Wolf and the Hart dwells night. Heed you the call of the flame, Heed the horn's might.'…it rhymes better in Latin," she said, shrugging.

"Only barely," Adam muttered, shaking his head in disgust, "Who writes this drivel?"

"A seventh century monk from Ireland," Willow told him, "His name was Columbanus."

"That explains it," Adam said, "He was probably in his cups; those monasteries were bloody depressing places."

Giles raised an eyebrow, "Is that so?"

"So I've heard," Adam murmured, suddenly developing an interest in the cuff of his coat.

"Um, pardon me for asking this," Willow piped up, "But _who are you?_"

"Me? I'm Adam Pierson, a friend of Tara's," Adam informed her cheerfully, "Don't worry; I'm just a casual observer…._very_ casual."

Tara rolled her eyes, "Be nice," she said under her breath.

"I thought I _was_ being nice," Adam said lowly, his eyes widening innocently.

Willow's face darkened as she watched the exchange. "Tara, it's just occurred to me that I never asked how you're not dead," she said, looking at Adam coldly as she got to her feet.

"Oh, _Adam_ had nothing to do with it," Tara said hurriedly, realising what Willow was thinking. "I'm an immortal…"

Surprise flashed across Willow's face. "You mean as in swords and quickening and stuff," she exclaimed.

"You've heard of them?" Tara asked, relief flooding through her; one less thing she would have to explain.

"Um, yeah, Buffy has a…friend," Willow said, her eyes round, "Oh my, so does that mean you have to…you know…" Willow mimed holding aloft a sword."

Tara's smile faltered, "Not yet."

"Oh, right," Willow stuttered, her face showing she'd realised what she'd asked.

"Moving swiftly onward," Adam murmured, "You were saying something about a prophecy?"

"Huh? Oh, yes," Willow said distractedly, "Well, that's it, really; it was a little vague, as I said…"

"What I don't understand is why Angel never mentioned it," Giles said as he slowly eased himself onto the couch.

"He probably doesn't know," Willow said, "I only found it because I insisted on looking for myself. Wolfram and Hart's idea of help isn't very helpful, if you know what I mean." Frowning, she looked over her shoulder, and the few employees who were near enough to overhear their conversation hurriedly scuttled away, throwing fearful glances at Willow as they fled the lobby. Puzzled, Tara looked at Willow's face for clues; she didn't seem at all surprised they had run from her attention. It was as if she _expected_ them to be afraid of her. With a sinking heart, Tara realised she still didn't have the entire story.

"We'd better tell Angel then." Giles said suddenly, starting to rise from the couch – only to fall back into it a moment later, his face twisted with pain.

"Oh, Giles, I'm so sorry," Tara said, suddenly remembering his wound. "I completely forgot you were injured."

Giles waved her apology away. "I'll live," he mumbled, "To be quite honest, I almost forgot myself."

"Let me give you a hand there, G man," Xander said, helping him up.

"Thank you," Giles said, once on his feet, "I believe Angel is downstairs, perhaps you could go downstairs and bring him up to date, Xander?"

"Hey, no problem," Xander said, "Just point me in the right direction."

"The elevator to your left takes you straight there," Tara offered.

"Cool, be back soon," Xander said as he retreated, "Don't go ending the world without me." Tara grinned; Xander hadn't changed – although the eye-patch was a bit of a mystery; yet another thing she had to ask about.

"Well, now that that's been taken care of, I think I'll go and have a look at this prophecy..." Giles muttered.

"I'll come along," Adam said promptly.

Gils looked at him questioningly, "I'm not sure if you would be much help…"

"Oh, didn't Tara tell you? It's what I do…I've a doctorate in ancient languages, a bit of Medieval Latin won't be much of a problem for me," Adam said amiably.

"It's true," Tara piped up, seeing the expression on Giles's face, "He teaches at the Sorbonne."

"I see," Giles said thoughtfully, "Well, that explains a few things…very well; an extra pair of eyes never hurts."

"Happy to help," Adam murmured, burrowing his hands into his coat pockets.

Tara looked at her teacher suspiciously; what was he up to? Adam _never_ volunteered; it was practically a matter of principle for him. She looked at him pointedly, but Adam studiously avoided eye contact as he listened to Giles's describe the extent of Wolfram and Hart's library. "_At least Giles looked happy_," she wryly thought, hearing Adam ask a few pertinent questions as they slowly strolled across the lobby, "_And he's going to be even happier when he discovers how good Adam actually is..._" With a start, Tara realised Adam was going to make a rather startling discovery of his own; a whole new array of languages he'd never seen before. She remembered the delight he took when he came across a language or dialect he wasn't familiar with and grinned; he'll be like a kid in a candy shop

"What are you smiling at?" Willow asked softly.

"I'm just imagining the look on Adam's face when he realises that all the languages in the library books aren't human," she whispered, "It's going to be priceless."

"He's an immortal too, isn't he?" Willow murmured.

Tara nodded, "He's the one who found me after I died," she explained quietly.

"How old is he…it's just that Buffy said some of them can be pretty old…a few old them have even lived over a millennia."

Tara thought of Amanda, "I've met one," she said, "she's….not what one would expect. I don't know how old Adam is, exactly. Every time I think I've figured it out, he says something which makes me realise I'm not even close."

"Why don't you just ask him," Willow asked, puzzled.

"It's an immortal thing," Tara said with a shrug. "They consider it bad manners to ask; some of them even consider it a challenge. The older the immortal, the more powerful the quickening, you see."

"Sounds…dangerous," Willow said carefully.

"It was a bit nerve wracking at first," Tara admitted, "It still is, to be honest. I've been lucky so far, the only immortals I've met are friends of Adam and they are more interested in a good meal and some idle conversation than a challenge…"

"That's interesting; isn't it, honey?" drawled Kennedy as her arms slipped around Willow's waist from behind, her eyes flashing defiantly as she rested her chin on Willow's shoulder.

Embarrassed, Tara studied her feet as a look of sheer panic crossed Willow's face. A wrenching pain tugged at her heart as she remembered Willow's heart wasn't hers anymore. She was merely the ex, calling at an inopportune moment…

"Am I interrupting something? Adam asked quietly, his eyes watchful as he suddenly appeared at Tara's side.

"Interrupting? No, not at all…not that there was anything to interrupt…no, nothing to interrupt here," Willow babbled.

"I'm so pleased," Adam drawled, smirking slightly as Willow's face went bright pink.

"I thought you were on your way to the library," Tara said tightly.

"I was," Adam said lightly, "But Giles suddenly remembered Angel's new 'guests' when we got there and he thought the vampire might need a little slayer strength. I said I'd save him the trip back and tell Kennedy myself; I don't want him to strain his injury more than he has to."

"Angel can handle it," Kennedy muttered defensively, "Besides; he has the whole of Wolfram and Hart at his disposal."

"I've no doubt you're correct but, apparently, Giles thinks otherwise. Perhaps you should to run over to the library and tell him differently," Adam said, an edge creeping into his voice.

"Kennedy, honey," Willow said softly, "If Giles thinks Angel needs help, you'd better go and see what's up."

Reluctantly, Kennedy nodded, kissing Willow on the cheek before extricating her arms. "I won't be long," she promised, before heading off to the elevator.

"Giles said no such thing, did he," Tara murmured once Kennedy was out of earshot.

"Are you complaining?" Adam asked.

"Wait a minute," Willow said, a frown appearing on her forehead, "You mean Giles never…"

"You two need to clear the air and _now_ you have a little breathing space to do it in, I suggest you take advantage of it," Adam said shortly, "I'll see you in a few hours, Tara."

"Sorry," Tara murmured as Adam stalked off, "He can be a bit…direct, sometimes."

"Kennedy's not going to be happy when she finds out," Willow said worriedly.

"I'll explain everything when she asks," Tara sighed as she slumped back into the couch.

Slowly, Willow sat down beside her. "Why did you leave me?" she asked timidly, "Was it because of what I did? Didn't you love me anymore?"

"Oh Goddess, Willow, _no,_" Tara burst out, surprised, "I didn't even know about that until you told me. I left because of _me_…of what I'd become."

"I don't understand," Willow said softly, "Did you actually think I would care what you were. I loved _you_; I didn't care about anything else. I went out with werewolf, remember?"

"And if an immortal had come to town after my head, what would you have done then, Willow?" Tara said, quietly registering Willow's use of the past tense.

"We would have dealt with it - _together,_"

"No, we wouldn't have, Willow," Tara murmured, "If you know about Immortals, you know about the game. I couldn't have asked you to sit by and do nothing as I took someone's life…or the other way around. It would have destroyed you in the end…destroyed us."

"You don't know that, Tara," Willow said softly

"Don't I?" Tara said, "Even if you were willing to look the other way, would Buffy? Immortals aren't demons, Willow, they're human. What do you think she would have done if she knew I was chopping off people's heads?"

"A lot has changed, Tara, including Buffy," Willow said sadly. "She no longer sees the world in black and white…neither do I."

"Maybe so," Tara admitted, "But this is now, and that was then."

Willow sighed. "You're right of course…oh goddess, what a mess."

"The one good thing about a mess is that it can be cleaned up," Tara suggested shyly as she felt a spark of hope springing to life. "Tell me what happened, Willow?"

**Paris****, Winter of 2002**

****

"Are you sure this is okay?" Tara whispered worriedly.

"Of course it is, darling," Amanda said, her smile a flash of white in the gloomy doorway, "I wouldn't have brought you along if it wasn't….here, hold this and shine it on keyhole for me."

Tara held the penlight and glanced over her shoulder at the street uneasily, "What if someone sees us?" Tara asked," I mean, I know you said it's not really stealing but the local gendarmes are not going to see it that way, are they?"

"Oh, don't worry, honey, Adam can afford to hire you a good lawyer," Amanda said absently, a frown of concentration appearing on her face as she twisted a lock pick inside the keyhole.

"That wasn't the answer I wanted to hear," Tara said nervously, "Tell me again how this isn't really stealing?"

"Oh, but it isn't, my dear," Amanda assured her, smiling as a soft click signalled her success, "You can't steal something you already own, can you?" Gently, she pushed the door open and listened for sounds of movement. "All clear," she murmured, stepping into the hallway before waving Tara inside.

Cautiously, Tara followed Amanda into the house, trusting in her fellow immortal's sense of direction. At last, they came to a stop in front of a pair of oaken double doors. Putting her finger to her lips for silence, Amanda slowly turned down the handle and opened the door a crack, stepping back hurriedly as the mellow light of a lamp illuminated the thin gap between door and doorway.

"I thought you said nobody was in?" Tara whispered under her breath.

"He _can't_ be," Amanda whispered back, her tone puzzled, "He's an immortal, remember? If he was in the house we would have felt him when we entered. Cautiously, Amanda stepped forward and put her ear to the door. Pulling back, she gave Tara a reassuring nod before opening the door another fraction and looking inside the room with one eye. "Oh-oh," she muttered, hastily pulling her eye away.

"What is it?" asked Tara anxiously.

"Nothing….I've just changed my mind, that's all," Amanda said, grabbing at her hand to pull her away from the door.

"You've changed you mind," Tara said incredulously, "But you said the sword was yours, a gift from your teacher."

"Not now, Tara," Amanda said worriedly, "Time to leave."

"But I don't understand, why don't we just get it now?"

"They'll be another time," Amanda said abruptly, tugging at her arm, "Now _come on_."

Tara dug in her heels, refusing to budge. "We're not going anywhere until you tell me why, Amanda," she said calmly. "For the last week, you've pestered me to come with you tonight. You told me the sword was of great sentimental value to you, and you couldn't bear leaving it in another immortal's possession for _one more_ day. Now, when we're standing less than twenty feet from it, you tell me you've _changed your mind. _What is it you're not telling me?"

"Tara, darling," Amanda said softly, "Now is not the time for this conversation. I'll explain everything once we get to Joe's."

"Not good enough," Tara said grimly, "I want to know _now_."

Amanda sighed, "I'm sorry, Tara, I thought he was out of town when I didn't see him leave or enter the house today," she said softly as she pushed the door open.

Tara bit back a cry when her eyes took in the devastation. "What happened here?" she asked hoarsely.

"A quickening," Amanda said sadly, "Poor Antonio, he was a terrible thief, but charming in his own way."

"But I don't see…" Tara's words petered off as she saw the leg sticking out from behind the couch.

"Yes. That's him," Amanda said, following her gaze, "He would have long disposed of the body if he had been the victor. Come on, time to leave," Gently, Amanda led the unresisting Tara from the room and closed the door.

"Is it always like that?" Tara asked gravely.

"I'm afraid it is, honey," Amanda replied kindly, "It's the price we pay for immortality…"

"I'm not sure if I want to pay that price," Tara murmured.

"Good, see that you don't then," Amanda said.

Tara smiled humourlessly, "You sound like Adam, Amanda."

"No I don't, honey," Amanda said calmly, guiding Tara through the front door, "I sound like an Immortal."

****

**Los Angelus, Summer of 2003**

Shaking his head in wonder, Methos watched as the blank pages filled with Latin text, "Handy," he murmured as he flicked through the pages.

"Tell me about it," Giles said, with some aspiration, "There was a time when I would have killed for a library like this. You should have seen the paltry resources I had to work with in Sunnydale…"

"Indeed," Methos muttered as he sunk into an armchair and opened the book on the first page. He was three lines in before he realised something was a little off. "_An Irish monk, my foot_," Methos thought, examining the text.

"Is something wrong," Giles asked looking up from the book he had picked up.

"It depends on what you mean by 'wrong'," Methos murmured, "This book is in _classical _Latin, not medieval. Could this be a copy and not the original words of the monk?"

"It's possible," Giles murmured, a glimmer of interest showing in his eyes, "May I see?" Methos passed him the tome. "Hmm…you're right," Giles said aloud, "How strange…"

Methos shrugged, "Stranger than the fact he somehow had foreknowledge of an event which wasn't about to take place for another thousand years?" he asked rhetorically.

"You have a point," Giles agreed, his eyes scanning the page before he turned to the next one. "Good grief," he muttered.

"What is it?" Methos asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"There's a recipe for beer here," the watcher said, bemusement showing in his voice.

"Is it any good?" Methos enquired, curious.

"Not unless you like the taste of moss," Giles sighed as he paged through the book

Methos grinned, "Depends on the type of moss," he joked.

Giles raised an eyebrow as he continued to search the book for the prophecy. "Maybe I should have asked Willow to accompany us," he said under his breath as he turned another leaf over.

"I think she's a bit too distracted to be of much help at the moment," Methos said softly, "She's a lot on her mind."

"Yes, you're right, of course…was that why you volunteered to help?"

"Partly," Methos admitted, "The other part of me was just curious….why don't you try the back pages, he might have kept his more esoteric writings separate."

Giles skipped to the back of the book, "Good call," he said softly as he suddenly hunched over the book.

Getting to his feet, Methos stepped behind the desk and looked over his shoulder, quickly translating the words aloud as he read.

"When the mouth of Darkness closes,

When the evil of all appears;

Beware the jewel of Al'keron,

Its fiery glare you should fear.

Betwixt the light and dark,

A warrior alone shall stand;

Death shall ride his heels,

And glory shall lie in his hand'

In the light of R'Nathnor dwells hope,

In the Wolf and the Hart dwells night.

Heed you the call of the flame,

Heed the horn's might…"

Methos sighed, "Does this make any sense to you," he asked, crossing his arms.

"Well…the first verse obviously refers to our battle with the first and the closing of the Hellmouth," Giles explained, "As for the rest; your guess is as good as mine."

"But I think yours might be a little more educated," Methos countered.

"Be that as it may," Giles said, "The fact is, I'm as much in the dark as you are."

"So what do you suggest we do?" Methos asked, frustration showing in his voice, "I don't know about you, but I would prefer to avoid an apocalypse."

"Well, I would say our first priority is to find the light of R'Nathnor," the watcher sighed.

"Any ideas as to where we start looking?" Methos enquired.

Giles placed a hand on the book he had been originally reading. "The chronicles of Parnoe," he murmured, "I decided to refresh my memory and look up the pertinent passage. According to this, the light of R'Nathnor was hidden in an undisclosed monastery."

Methos groaned. "Do you have any idea how many monasteries they were during the middle ages?" he muttered, "It's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Not necessarily," Giles disagreed, "From what I can gather, this is an extremely power artefact. You may not realise this, but Willow is a very powerful witch. If we can find a better description, perhaps a list of its properties, she should be able to locate it with ease."

"I see," Methos drawled.

"You know, for a supernatural being, you seem to be extremely sceptical about such things," Giles observed, "Why is that?"

"Long years of experience," Methos sighed, "I usually find when men mention witches and demons; they're actually revealing their hidden prejudices and fears. I've seen too many people die horrible deaths because someone has accused a midwife of being a witch or a loner of being a demon. It tends to give one a rather jaundiced view of such things"

"And you've never, in all your years, come across an entity, or a power, you could not explain?"

"Of course I have," Methos admitted, "They are a number of immortals who have powers which I could not explain, and I've stumbled across a few vampires in my time; but Hellmouths and demons with horns, no. Though I did stumble across something in a cavern once which _might _have been a dragon…."

"A dragon, are you sure?" Giles asked, surprised.

"Who's the sceptic _now,_" Methos said with a grin, "It was big, it was scaly, it had wings; I challenge you to tell me what else it could have been!"

"I'm just surprised, that's all," Giles said, staring at Methos suspiciously over the rim of his glasses. "The last confirmed report the watchers have of a dragon living in this dimension was during the eleventh century."

"Fancy that," Methos muttered evasively, "You must have missed one then…"

"I think not," Giles said, a hint of a smile on his lips, "Dragons tend to be very hard creatures to miss. How old are you, Mr Pierson…if that is even you real name?"

"Let's just say I look good for my age and leave it at that, shall we?" Methos evaded.

Giles sighed. "Let me be straight with you, Mr Pierson," he said as he took off his glasses and started to clean them. "I've noticed the influence you have over Tara, and I have some serious reservations about your relationship with her. I _do_ have some knowledge of your kind's culture, so I realise Tara probably owes her survival to you and your efforts as her teacher. But we don't know you, and you have evaded every question either I, or the others, have asked about your past. As you may have realised, our lives are not like others, everyday we battle against forces which would give a grown man nightmares. In a climate like this, trust is very important and, so far, you haven't given us any reason to trust you."

Silently, Methos listened to the watcher as he returned to his seat. Tara trusted Rupert Giles but that didn't necessarily mean _he_ could. Nevertheless, he could understand the watcher's position. To his mind, Methos represented a dangerous unknown. "Mr Giles," he said softly, "I'm a very private man. Not even Tara knows my true age or name and, believe it or not, this is as much for her protection as mine. I can count the amount of people who know my true history on one hand, the rest are dead…victims of the game."

"Be that as it may, we still need to know the truth," Giles said evenly.

Methos nodded reluctantly, "On one condition, what I tell you doesn't go beyond this room," he eventually said, "You are to tell no one, not even Tara."

"I'm not sure if I can promise that," Giles said slowly, "I'm not the only one who needs to be reassured."

"They vampire wants to know, eh?" Methos muttered, "He and I didn't get off to a very good start. Mostly my fault, I'm afraid, I tend to get a bit prickly when I find myself in unknown territory. Tell me, wouldn't he accept your word if you vouched for me?"

"Whether or not I will vouch for you remains to be seen, Mr Pierson," Giles said, raising an eyebrow, "However, I think he might accept that, yes."

"Well then, I suppose we should start with the basics," he sighed, "My true name is Methos and I have the dubious honour of being the oldest surviving immortal…"

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

**Rises from the dead**

**Yes, it's Jinxed, missing presumed dead!**

**Sorry for the long wait, there is a story attached but I'm not going to bore you with it!**

**To all those who read and reviewed, thanks! I know I've been a naughty girl and not updated in a long time but I promise to mend my ways. I give fair warning, though; it's been a while since I've done the fanfic thing so the next few chapters might be a bit rough **

**A special thank you to Bookworm, who waited patiently for me to start writing again.**

**And yes, I've started working on 'Second Thoughts' too!**

**Moving swiftly onward…**

**Chapter 7**

**Los Angelus, Summer of 2003**

Stretching out his, Adam slouched further into his chair, wishing for the peace and quiet of the library he had left behind as the din rose yet another notch. It seemed that while Giles and he had been absent, Wolfram and Hart had been invaded by a small army of slayers who were now encamped in Angel's office. Looking around, Methos couldn't help but think they looked less like a force of super-strong warriors and more like the escapees from a college sorority house; if, indeed, they were old enough to attend college, some of them didn't look old enough to attend high school.

At the head of the table, Giles was deep in conversation with Wesley and a dark-haired girl who had introduced herself as Faith before dragging Giles from his side as they'd entered the room. Warily, he eyed their bowed heads and the urgent expressions on their faces, conscious that the three were probably making decisions that could possibly have consequences for Tara and, therefore, him. He debated whether he should join them, then decided against it; he knew he was an outsider and they would probably change the subject once they aware of his presence.

His mind wandered back to his conversation with Giles in the library, wondering if he had made the right decision. Methos had not told him everything, of course. He never told _anyone_ everything…but even the fact that Giles knew his true name made him uneasy. He was well aware that the watcher had his own agenda and obligations, and he wondered uncomfortably if he would fall foul of them. He reassured himself with the thought that Giles didn't know about the more unsavoury parts of his past. With all the talk of apocalypses, somebody might get the wrong idea if they knew about his time as a horseman…

He eyed the milling crowd, watching as the slayers talked and laughed, munching on chips and sodas as they debated about the best lipsticks, the coolest clothes, the best wood to make a stake out of…he shook his head in a brief spurt of dark amusement, it served him right for eavesdropping. He was not sure if he would ever get used to this. It was if he'd suddenly stepped into an alternative universe in which the bad guys wore horns and the good guys popped chewing gum.

Methos suddenly felt homesick for Paris, missing Joe's face and Amanda's flying visits. Briefly, he dwelled on Mac's absence and wondered if the Highlander was still alive. He had disappeared before, of course, and for very similar reasons, but he would still feel better for seeing his face. Thoughts of Ahriman rose in his mind, and he kicked himself for not asking Giles about it when he had the watcher to himself…maybe later.

Looking around the room, he noted Angel's marked absence; he had a funny feeling it might be something to do with Tara's slayer friend, Buffy. When Tara had told him of the couple's relationship he hadn't known what to think, it all sounded so preposterous. Now that he'd met the vampire, he could see how it might happen; Angel reminded him only too well of Mac, right down to the bleeding heart and over active conscience. The slayer's relationship with the other vampire was less easy to understand. Giles had informed him that Spike was now ensouled. but the relationship Tara had told him off had happened before this event. It sounded a rather doomed affair by all accounts, but perhaps, now that he was ensouled things were different… or maybe not. Willow mentioned Buffy had a new 'friend' – an immortal. Yet another thing to worry about.

Which brought him right back to Tara. He worriedly wondered where she was; readily admitting to himself that he'd have been a lot less concerned if Willow and Kennedy didn't happen to be missing as well. He could see a lot of heartache and confusion in his student's future and no way of avoiding it. When Tara had insisted she needed to see if her friends were okay, he had tried to explain to her that time had moved on, and so had Willow. But maybe it was a lesson one had to learn for one's self. He had…several times. He shook his head ruefully, remembering the few times he had let his heart rule his head

Giles's voice lifted above the noise and Methos straightened in his chair as the watcher raised his hands for attention. "Okay, okay, quiet down," he shouted over the chorus of voices, "We've got work to do." The din receded as the slayers gave the watcher their full attention; their faces settling into a grim façade that made then seem older than their years. For the first time, Methos realised what Tara meant when she described the lot of a slayer. He was in a roomful of warriors, not teenagers. As quiet settled upon the room, Faith got to her feet.

"Okay, people," she drawled, "You know the situation, Standard drill, avert an apocalypse." The slayers laughed quietly, a few shaking their heads with a combination of amusement and world-weariness. "I know some of you don't know what the big deal is," she continued, "And a few of you are wondering why you were pulled away from active duty in Cleveland," she added, nodding in the direction of a small group of grim-faced slayers standing by the doorway. "But this is a big one, nearly as bad as the mess in Sunnydale, so I'd like you all to listen up and hear what Giles has to say"

"In three days time," Wolfram and Hart are going to try and end the world," Giles said softly as he stood. "As some of already know, this organisation is an old one and has a lot of power at its disposal. We should expect to feel the full force of that might when the hour comes. Willow, as we speak, is trying to locate an artefact which has come to our attention through a prophecy; this artefact may, or may not, aid us in our struggle. But, as you well know, in the end it will be between you and the enemy."

"I don't understand," said on young slayer, raising her hand, "Isn't Angel supposed to be in charge of Wolfram and Hart now?" A low murmur of agreement rose in the room.

"He is nominally in charge of the Los Angeles branch, yes," agreed Giles. "But Wolfram and Hart are a world wide organisation and even Angel's hold on this branch is tenuous at best. He sighed, "Perhaps Wesley is in a better position to explain than I."

Reluctantly, Wesley got to his feet. "I don't really have much to add," he admitted, ". Yes, _technically_ we're in charge but, in reality, we can barely keep our employees in check. Why Wolfram and Hart gave us this branch, I don't know; but I _do_ know it isn't because they've suddenly seen the error of their ways. It's my guess they needed our presence to further their own ends…or should I say Angel's presence. We've spent the last couple of weeks trying to figure out why, but we've not had any luck yet."

"I don't know about anyone else here," a slayer observed, her Welsh accent colouring her words, "But that sounds like a mighty good reason to get the hell out of dodge. I mean, if they want you, shouldn't you leave?"

"It's not as simple as that," Wesley sighed, "Yes, we could leave, but we have already deduced that whatever plans Wolfram and Hart have, they all point to this branch. Our position here gives us access to their plans that we wouldn't otherwise have…. the prophecy that Giles just mentioned, for instance."

Methos frowned; Wesley had just brought up a point he had missed before. With a polite cough, he raised his hand.

"Yes, what is it?" Wesley snapped irritably, frowning as Methos stood.

"I was just wondering…. how trustworthy is this prophecy?" Methos asked blandly, "After all, the only source you have for it is in Wolfram and Hart's library. It seems to me we are making a lot of decisions based on a prophecy that might be the work of the enemy. Is it possible it's a forgery, and we're walking right into their hands?"

Methos had expected many things, but not the reaction he got. All of a sudden, the blood drained from Wesley's face as he stiffened, "It's possible," he said softly as he slowly sat down, "More than possible…" he shook his head, as if to banish the cobwebs from his mind. "Where was I?" he muttered, "Oh yes, you make a good point, Mr Pierson, it might be a good idea to verify if this prophecy is true. Perhaps we could track down another copy."

Methos examined Wesley's face thoughtfully. Something important had just happened but he wasn't exactly sure what it was. One thing was for sure, Mr Wyndham Price didn't look too happy. In fact, he looked like a man who'd suddenly realised he'd had lost something. Suddenly, it clicked; Methos had seen that dazed expression before… on the faces of those Cassandra had bespelled with her voice.. A shiver of foreboding ran down his spine and he got to his feet, quietly leaving the room as the debate raged on behind him.

**Paris, Winter of 2002**

It was the way she danced which first caught Tara's attention. She twirled in the middle of the floor as if it was a waltz rather than a techno beat blaring through the club's sound system.

"It's great, isn't it?" Lucy hollered, pulling her further down the down grabbing her arm.

"Yeah, great," Tara yelled back, smiling politely..

"See, I told you you'd like it. Now all we need is some bad beer and we'll be good to go."

"Oh…yeah." Tara said absently, her eyes roaming back to the swaying figure on the dancefloor.

"Beer first, then dancing," Lucy said, grinning as she followed Tara's gaze. "I'll show you all my moves!"

With a flick of her hair, the dancer revealed her face and Tara froze in her steps. Her hair had lost the curls she'd had in the old sepia tinted photos Spike kept, and the bloody red dress she wore looked like it just stepped off the cat walk rather than a Merchant Ivory film, but she'd recognise that face anywhere..

Drusilla.

Swallowing, she jumped as Lucy tapped her on the shoulder,

"What's up? "Lucy asked, concern showing on her face.

"A friend's ex," Tara said shortly.

"Bad break up?"

"Why do you ask?" Tara said, her eyes following Drusilla's progress across the dance floor.

"Because you look like you've swallowed something nasty," Lucy observed dryly, "Does she have something to do with _your _ex…"

"What…oh, no," Tara said as she rose up on the balls of her feet to watch the vampire's movement across the club. _Where was she going?_

"Listen, Tara, just ignore her, okay?" Lucy said, "Let's just join the others and have a good time."

"Actually, I think I feel a headache coming on…" Tara said lamely as she spotted Drusilla head for the toilets.

"U-huh, sure," Lucy said, disbelief showing in her eyes, "Why don't I believe you? Come on, Tara, this is the last time we're all going to be together. A lot of us are flying home tomorrow, including me. Live a little!"

Tara smiled half-heartedly, "You go on ahead, I'll just freshen up in the restroom; maybe a bit of water on face will banish the headache. I'll join you in a few minutes," she promised as she took a few steps towards the toilet.

"Five minutes," Lucy called after her, "And then I'm coming after you!"

Tara threw a reassuring over her shoulder as she dodged the dancers on the dance floor. If she was quick, she might make it to Drusilla before she picked her next victim. Mentally she cursed herself for her complacency. It had been so long since she'd seen an actual vampire she had actually stopped carrying a stake with her.

A hand grasped her arm and she turned to see a smiling clubber gesturing at the dance floor. With a smile and a slight shake of the head, Tara tried to extricate herself from his grasp. Instead of letting go, however, the clubber's grip tightened as he caught her eye. Tara's blood froze; she had seen that look of hunger before. Drusilla wasn't the only vampire in the club.

"Don't struggle, girl," the vampire hissed as he pulled her closer, "Come quietly."

Gritting her teeth, Tara stomped hard on his foot and the vampire cursed in surprise. Wrenching her arm free, Tara stumbled off the dance floor. How could she have been so stupid; Drusilla, crazy as she was, was still a master vampire. The club was probably infested with her minions. Worriedly, she glanced in the direction Lucy had headed and spotted her deep in conversation with Mark, another of her classmates. At least she wasn't alone.

Tara fumbled inside the lining of her coat for the pommel of her sword as she glanced over her shoulder. The vampire who had accosted her was already dancing with another girl. Evidently, he had decided it was easier to pick another victim rather than chase after her. Panic rose up inside her as she tried to decide what to do. This wasn't Sunnydale; the clubbers wouldn't look the other way if she dusted a vampire in the middle of the dance floor - and the goddess only knows what Drusilla was up.

Grimly, she came to a decision and turned to the toilets once more, frowning as she spotted the impatient line milling outside. "What's wrong," she asked the girl at the end of the line.

"Some idiot has blocked the door from the other side," the girl said, pouting as she tottered on her high-heeled boots. Tara looked at the heavily made up face more closely; she looked the same age as Dawn.

Repressing the urge to ask if her parents knew where she was, Tara smiled encouragingly, "Do you know who's in there," she asked.

"How the hell do I know," the teenager said impatiently, "I just got here!"

Repressing a sigh, Tara pressed her way to the head of the queue and tapped the shoulder of the girl who was banging loudly on the door, demanding entrance.

"What's the hold up?" she asked.

"Someone's barred the door," the girl growled, "And this is the only toilet in the damned club…_hey, you, open up in there_…"

A scream on the dance floor cut through the girl's rant and Tara turned to see the dancer's flee from the dance floor. She was too late, the killing spree had already begun. Desperately, she looked around for something to break through the door. There still might be time to save whoever was trapped in the toilet with Drusilla; what would Buffy do? With a gasp of relief, her eyes rested on the fire-axe in its glass case beside the emergency exit.

Pushing through the crowd rushing for the exit, she slammed her elbow through the glass, setting off the alarm. Pulling the axe free, she waved it front of her, letting it part the way for her through the mad crush of panicked clubbers. With a deep breath, she slammed med the axe into the door, splintering the wood. Anchoring her foot against the doorway, she pried the axe out of the door and swung once more. The door shuddered but still wasn't through. Desperate, Tara pulled the axe free, wincing as the muscles in her shoulders protested; Buffy made this kind of thing look so effortless.

A hand fell on her shoulder and Tara swung around, the axe still in her hand. "Hey easy there, Tiger," Lucy said with a startled laugh as the axe's edge stopped just before her nose. "What the hell are you trying to do with that thing?"

"The doors been jammed and I think someone's trapped in there," Tara gasped, "Stand back, I'm nearly through."

"Shouldn't you let the cops or the fire brigade do that," Lucy muttered worriedly, hastily stepping out of the way as Tara raised the axe.

"No time," Tara said, smashing the axe into the door. Suddenly the door came off the hinges and Tara froze as Drusilla threw the door to one side. "Naughty, naughty," the vampiress murmured, her hand flashing forward to grab Tara by the neck, squeezing on her windpipe.

Distantly, Tara heard Lucy's screams as she felt the axe slip from her fingers; white dots flashed before her eyes, she was going to pass out. Drusilla lifted her off her feet and pulled her closer, her eyes gleaming softly as she examined Tara's face.

"I know you, she murmured softly. "I've seen you in my dreams…all the pretty splashes of blood, and my William tryin' to stop 'em….only, I don't understand that part…He's dead, you know," the vampire said solemnly as she suddenly released her grip. "Bye, bye, pretty witch, I'll see you soon, when it's the proper time.

Tara sank to the floor, her lungs grasping for air as her eyes closed against her will, "Adam is going to kill me…."

**Los Angeles, 2003**

Are you sure?" Kennedy asked, leaning against Wesley's desk as she pinned Tara with her eyes.

"It's her," Willow said shortly, her eyes following Kennedy's as she briefly looked up from her laptop.

"What's she doing?" Kennedy asked softly, "She's just been sitting on that couch and staring at that book since I've arrived.

"She's thinking."

"About what?"

Willow shrugged, "Things," she muttered as her drifted to the laptops screen, "A lot has happened in the last year.

"So…how do you feel," Kennedy asked tentatively.

"I'm not sure," Willow murmured softly, "Confused, mostly, – I'm sorry, this must be hard for you," she added, biting her lip worriedly.

A small smile graced Kennedy's lips. "That's one way of putting it," she said softly, "I just like to know where I stand, Willow; this… this is killing me. I know you love me, but I've always suspected you loved her more. It never really bothered me before…well, no, that's a lie. It _did_ bother me but it's rather tacky to be jealous of a dead person and you're entitled to your memories and…"

Kennedy," Willow interrupted gently, "You're babbling.

"Yeah, I know, you must be rubbing off on me" Kennedy said, laughing softly, "I just don't like knowing where I stand, Willow… and you can jump in and tell me not to be silly anytime, you know..."

Yes, she could, Willow told herself, so why didn't she? Smiling sadly, she looked away from Kennedy's searching eyes. What could she say? Don't be silly, Kennedy, of course I love you more. That nothing has changed? She could, she supposed, but it would be a lie…

"Willow, you still here?" Kennedy joked nervously.

"Sorry," Willow murmured, "It's just that I…I…"

"Don't," Kennedy said stiffly as she straightened up

"Kennedy—" Willow said pleadingly.

"Later," Kennedy said, cutting her off, "I'm going to check on how Giles and Faith are doing with the other slayers. "We'll talk tonight – when we have some privacy," she added, glaring pointedly at Tara as she strode out of the room.

"I'm sorry," Tara said, looking up as the door was slammed, "This is all my fault, I should never have come back."

"You should never have left in the first place," Willow snapped, "Then this would never have happened - _should_ never have happened. I still love you Tara, but I would be lying if I said I didn't care for Kennedy. She helped me through some very dark times and….and….I owe her," she murmured softly, "Oh Goddess, she deserves so much better than this—"

"Not interrupting again, am I?" a soft voice broke in, and Willow snorted in irritation as she noticed who stood at the door.

"Nothing that can't wait," Tara piped up before Willow could answer, "What's up?"

"Don't ask me," Adam said as he threw himself on the couch beside Tara, "I'm just a lowly professor, remember?"

"Uhuh….oh, look at that_, a flying pig," _Tara joked lightly.

Willow watched the exchange warily. That Tara seemed to trust Adam Pierson was obvious, and usually Tara was an excellent judge of character…but there was something about Tara's teacher that made her nervous. "So, how did you two meet?" she asked lightly.

"In a dark alley, of course," Adam drawled as he slouched further into the couch.

Willow laughed politely, "No, seriously, where did you meet?"

"Um, I _was_ being serious, actually. We met in a dark alley…though I suppose we technically met at the mouth of a dark alley and not actually _in_ one, but you get the general idea.

"And what, exactly, were you doing in the alley?" asked Willow cautiously.

"Being dead, of course."

"Adam, stop being obtuse," Tara chided, elbowing him sharply in the ribs.

"Ow! That hurt!"

Tara rolled her eyes, "He was jumped by a couple of vampires while he was in Sunnydale for an job interview," she explained, "The, when he came to, he stumbled out of the alley and bumped into me."

"You're taking all the fun out of this, you know," Adam said with a smirk.

" And _you'_re just trying to wind her up to see what she'll do," Tara snorted, exasperation showing in her voice.

"No I'm not," he disagreed good humouredly, "I've already seen what she can do. I've had the dubious pleasure of having a stereo sound technicolor demonstration."

"What does that mean?" Willow asked softly, straightening up slightly in her chair.

"Last year," he informed her. "It took me a while to make the connection as you're no longer sporting the 'black' look. That was quite a display you put on, Kid. There wasn't much left of that Police station by the time you were finished with it."

"Willow felt her face flush as the immortal calmly met her gaze "You s-s-saw that," she stammered, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

"Let me guess, it's a long story," he murmured.

"Adam, don't push," chided Tara. "It's none of you business."

"And I am none of _her _business," he countered brusquely. "You need to work a bit more on your interrogation techniques, kid," he added, turning his gaze to Willow. "You're a little too obvious."

"Let's change the subject, shall we? Tara said hastily, giving Adam a meaningful glare before getting to her feet.

"Yes, lets do?" Adam said abruptly. "Any major breakthroughs?"

"Um, nothing much yet, there is a brief description of an artefact being confiscated from a monastery in France during the second world war which sounds like the light of R'Nathnor, but I can't be positive. Apparently, the Third Reich was a major client of Wolfram and Hart's, and they went to great lengths to cover up that fact when it became obvious Germany was going to lose. Luckily, though, the reference caught a clerk's eye, and he made a not of it in the file dealing with the light of R'Nathnor before destroying the original transcript," Willow explained breathlessly.

"They had just a transcription of the acquisition, not the actual object itself? Adam pressed.

"Um, yeah, why do you ask?"

"Just a hunch. The description doesn't include the acquisition number from the original transcript by any chance?"

"Well…yes," Willow muttered," But I don't see how that would help…"

A lot of the Artefacts taken by the Third Reich were returned to their former owners at the end of the war," Adam explained, "And those they couldn't trace back to their owner were kept in keeping until someone stepped forward to claim them. Some were sold off to various museums, but all were recorded. If this piece was taken in France, it was probably given back to the country at the end of the war so that they could deal with it."

"So, somewhere in France, there is a record with this acquisition number on it," Willow interrupted excitedly.

"That would be my guess, yes," Adam said, shrugging. "But why are you bothering with all this? Giles seemed to be under the impression that you could just wave your hands and…and …you know…" Adam ended lamely.

"Magic it here?" Willow supplied, her face quirking into a smile "Europe is a big place, Mr Pierson. It could take me weeks to locate it by magic alone, but if I can narrow down the location…well, _then_ I might be able to do something."

"Hmmm, I see," Adam muttered.

"No, you don't, but that's okay," Willow said, laughing as she caught the expression that fled across his face. "Most people get the wiggles when I talk about this kind of thing."

"Fancy that," Adam muttered, earning himself another jab in the ribs from Tara.

"Behave," Tara scolded.

"I _am_ behaving."

"No you're not. You're being... ironic!"

"No I wasn't, I was being _sarcastic_; there's a difference," Adam pointed out

Tara threw her hands up. "I give _up_."

"_GOOD TO KNOW."_

The hairs on the back of Willows neck went up as she slowly looked around the room. "Oh,oh," she murmured.

"Oh, oh, _what_?" Adam said, as he followed her gaze around the room. "I don't see anything.

"Exactly."

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Los Angelus, Summer of 2003**

Methos's hand slowly crept beneath his coat, reaching for the comfort of his sword as Willow got to her feet." What is it?"

"I'm not sure. But it isn't good, I sense…evil."

"S-s-so do I."

Surprised, Methos turned to study his student's face "Since when you do sense _evil_?"

"Not since before I became an Immortal," Tara admitted, reluctantly. "I didn't think I _could _anymore. After my first death, nothing else worked like it used to…"

"Why do I have a funny feeling you left something out in our little discussion, yesterday."

Tara blushed. " I didn't think it was pertinent."

"You mean, you didn't think I could handle it," he said, astutely. Tara shrugged, but didn't deny it. "So…what's the plan?"

"Um, plan?" Willow echoed, as she backed away from the desk. "Run away?"

"_At least the witch had a sound grasp of self preservation_", he thought as he nodded his assent. He could get to like his student's lover…ex-lover…would be lover_… Damn_, this is getting complicated. "Time to leave," he muttered.

Tara cleared her throat. "That might be a bit difficult."

Methos's blood froze as he followed her gaze. "Where has the door gone?" he asked quietly, not trusting himself to say more.

"I don't think it's the door that's gone," Willow said quietly.

"What makes you think…oh." Speechless, Methos watched as the room faded to white. "Let me guess," he said, softly, "Magic."

"At the top end of the scale," Willow confirmed.

"Any idea of where we are?" Willow threw him an incredulous look. "What? What did I say?"

"We're in the white room, Adam," Tara said softly. "You know_, the_ white room?"

His mind flitted back to the earlier conversation. "I thought they said it was cut off, no access."

"It was, which means…" Willow shivered. "We need to get out of here – _fast_."

"I'd love to oblige, but there might be a hitch to that plan; no door, remember?"

"_They are other kinds of doors_."

Methos blinked as the timbre of Willow's voice changed. "What's going on here?" Tara's hand fell on his arm and he frowned at it irritably.

"She's trying to get us out of here," she supplied gently. "Hold on, this might get a little bumpy…"

"What—" Methos's head reeled as the room began to spin, his stomach rebelling as his sense of balance spun off kilter. Absently, his mind registered Tara's grip growing tighter as a high squeal invaded his ears, the nausea redoubling as Latin suddenly filled the air.

"…_nos hinc quo nos postulo praecessi…"_

"_Her accent is terrible,"_ the thought was fleeting as pain ripped through his brain, almost bringing him to his knees as he closed his eyes against the spinning room. _"What the bloody hell is she doing…"_

"Sic exsisto is" 

As suddenly as it started, the whirlwind stopped, only to be replaced by the sound of breaking glass and the aroma of coffee and donuts. Methos cautiously opened his eyes. "Well, that was…interesting," he said, shakily, as he eyed the open mouthed audience in front of them. "I hate to sound clichéd, but…where are we?"

His eyes slid to the red haired witch beside him, who had gone a deep shade of pink. "Molly's diner," she breathed, waving her fingers nervously as the pale-faced waitress behind the counter. "I had breakfast here this morning."

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but couldn't you have whisked us off to someplace more…private."

"It was the first place that popped into my head when I was doing the spell, and by the time I realised it wasn't the best target, it was already too late," she muttered under her breath. "Anyway, I got us out, didn't I? Stop complaining," she added, irritation creeping into her voice.

"It's not _my_ complaints you have to worry about," Methos shot back as he hurriedly hid his sword in his coat and smiled nonchalantly at the diner's clientele, who seemed frozen to the spot.

It's L.A., they're used to weird stuff," Willow said, her embarrassment fading in the wake of her anger. "And it isn't as if I had a choice. We needed to get out of that place before it had us totally in its grasp. I'm not sure what it was, but it was bad, and I'm not sure if this would have worked if I'd waited a moment longer - and who the hell are _you_, anyway, to question me"

Methos's eyes narrowed. "I'm the man you just ripped through time and space, and I've the headache to prove it," he shot back. "And I'm getting tired of your attitude.

"_My_ attitude? You're the one that's been mouthing off since you got here, _Dr. Pierson;_ and I, for one, am getting sick of it. First, you abduct Tara—"

"Abduct? What the hell are you talking about, girl?"

"You know what I'm talking about! All that…that…_crap_ about how she was Immortal now and that she had to go with you to Paris. "

"_Crap?"_ Methos echoed, softly. "I'll tell you what's _crap—"_

"_Stop _it,"Tara said, sharply. "We don't have time for this."

"Oh, on the contrary, I think it's the _ideal _time for this," Methos bit out. "I _knew_ it was a mistake to come here. This isn't your life anymore, Tara, and I'm sick and tired of making allowances for it."

"Don't, Adam," Tara said, quietly. "Don't make me choose."

Methos slowly turned to face his student. "I see, it's like _that_, is it?" he said, softly. "Well, don't let me keep you. I'll be at the hotel; call me if you come to your senses."

"Adam—"

Methos cut his hand through the air, silencing her. "I don't want to hear it, Tara. I've had enough," he murmured, trying to keep his anger in check. "I'll just leave you to the good graces of your friends, shall I? I'm _out _of here"

Not looking back, Methos slammed the Diner door open and stalked out. Try as he might, he couldn't convince Tara that there wasn't a choice to be made. She was an Immortal, end of story. Methos drew in a long breath, then let it out. "_You lost your temper, old man_," he thought, ruefully. "_Bad move_."

**Paris, Winter of 2002**

Desperately, Tara cradled the unconscious girl's head, as she tried to staunch the flow of blood. "Don't die on me," she murmured, stroking the dyed strands of the girl's hair from her forehead. "Help is coming soon." Closing her eyes, she blinked away the tears, as she tried to move the poor girl into a more comfortable position.

"_If only I'd got here a few moments earlier,"_ she thought. "_Maybe then…"_ her mind flitted back to the cloaked attackers who'd fled the alley. Adam would have been proud of her, she hadn't even thought twice about attacking them…it's a pity she hadn't managed to do anything other than wound them…_whatever_ they were.

"_Not human_," she told herself, firmly. "_But they didn't have the usual demonic super strength, either." _She pictured their scarred faces in her mind. "_They had no eyes, but they moved like they could see…and those curved daggers…"_ She shuddered.

The fall of footsteps filled the alleyway, and Tara looked up to see Adam's frowning face. "What, the hell, has happened here?

"She was attacked. Quick, help me get her into the car, we need to take her home."

"Home? Tara, the girl needs a hospital,"

Tara hesitated. "It was…a vampire attack," she lied. "They'd ask too many questions."

"A vampire, eh?" Adam drawled, raising an eyebrow as he bent over the girl and delicately removed the sweater Tara had used to staunch the wound

"Yes," she said, shortly.

Adam sighed. "She was attacked with a knife, Tara." He said, as he lightly probed the wound.

"Some of the younger ones use weapons," Tara said, through gritted teeth. "We can't let her go to the hospital. Vampires don't like unfinished business. They'll check the emergency rooms for her."

"How organised of them, " Adam said, dryly.

"Adam, _please_."

"Are you going to tell me what this is really about?"

Tara opened her mouth, then closed it abruptly. How would he react if she told him the truth? That the reason she so desperately needed to help this girl was because of the last words she'd uttered before she'd lost consciousness_. "Sunnydale, I need… to get…to Sunnydale_

"It's important to me," she said, eventually.

Adam's eyes narrowed as he studied her face, and Tara swallowed uncomfortably. "Move aside," he said, abruptly, as he pulled out his car keys and tossed them to her. "I'll carry her, you'll drive."

Catching the keys, Tara smiled. "Thanks, Adam; you won't regret this."

Don't thank me until you've seen my stitching," he said, gruffly, as he manoeuvred the unconscious girl into his arms. "I'm a bit rusty."

**Los Angelus, Summer of 2003**

Tara's heart sank as she stepped through Wolframs and Hart's doors. It was bedlam. They were at least a hundred people milling in the foyer - most of them were Slayers, Tara guessed – and nearly all of them were shouting at the top of their voices. What the hell had happened while they'd been gone?

"Willow, thank god you're okay - _Tara!"_ Tara looked up to see a willowy, dark haired girl push her way through the throng. Was that…oh my Goddess, it was _Dawn._ Had she grown another foot?

"Tara, my God! I can't believe it! Spike said you were here, but I don't think I really _believed_ it 'til now…"

Tara smiled as she found herself enveloped by Dawn's hug. "You've grown," she murmured, hugging her tightly.

"Tell me about it," Dawn said, with a laugh. "Buffy thinks it's all the Wheatos I ate as a kid…or should I say, all the fake Wheatos coz, you know, fake _childhood_!" Tara noticed that there was no longer any bitterness in Dawns voice as she joked about her origins. Time had healed that particular wound.

"Dawn, what's happened?" Willow interrupted, gently.

"No one is exactly sure," Dawn said, worriedly. "All we know is that it was something very magical, and very scary. It was like something out of Star Trek. There was this bright, white beam and, suddenly, people started disappearing." Dawns voice faltered. "Angel's gone, and so is Buffy. I think…I think, they may have got Kennedy too…"

Willows eyes widened. "When? When did it happen?"

"About twenty minutes ago."

Tara nodded, knowing what Willow was thinking. "That was about the time when we were attacked," she murmured. "If you hadn't gotten us out of there, we would have disappeared too."

"Your friend didn't seem very grateful," Willow muttered, frowning.

"Adam can get a little cranky, sometimes, but he'll come around," Tara said. "He's just worried about me," she added, ruefully."

"Adam? Who's Adam?"

"A long story," Willow interjected. "And one we don't have time for, at the moment. Who else has disappeared?"

"Six of the Slayers, and one of Angel's people, Gunn. It also took all of the witches and shamans Angel's people rounded up last night. Giles is really pissed about that. I think it tried to take Spike too; he blinked out for a minute or two, but then popped back. He doesn't remember where he went, though."

"Maybe I can help him with that," Willow said, grimly. "And while I'm at it, I _really _want to get into that 'White Room. I have a funny feeling we will find more than few answers there – Dawn, we're searching for an artefact that may help us. It's called the Light of R'Nathnor. My notes are in the office I was using earlier. Could you...?"

I'm on it," Dawn said. "Watcher Summers to the rescue!"

"Good," Willow said, smiling. "When you've tracked it down, let me know. We need to get it as soon as possible." Nodding, Dawn bounced off purposefully.

"She's all grown up," Tara said, softly, as she watched Dawn leave.

"Yes, she is," said Willow. "Her research skills are amazing, and her fighting skills are coming along nicely…we should find Giles, and let him know we haven't been 'disappeared' too."

"It sounds like something out of the X Files," Tara murmured. "What kind of spell do you think it is? It sounds like a hybrid; part location spell, part translocation spell."

"You'd need a lot of power to do it," Willow mused. "And whoever did it either had a really amazing power source…or wasn't human. One of the Hell Gods could probably pull it off."

Tara shuddered. "Let's hope not."

"Oh, Tara, I'm so _sorry_," Willow said, contritely. "I wasn't thinking…"

Tara brushed it off. "What's there to be sorry about," she said. "It needed to be said. You're right; you _would_ need the power of a hell god to pull off a spell this huge. Translocation is tricky even if you're only moving one person; with multiple targets…well..."

"Exactly," Willow murmured, nodding. " And I don't want to leave Buffy and Kennedy in their clutches one moment longer than I have to."

Tara's heart went out to her. She knew how hard it had been for Willow when Glory had tampered with her mind. If the same happened the Kennedy, Willow might never forgive herself. "It'll be okay, we'll get them back," she said, aloud. "Let's go find Giles."

TBC 


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: I know, I know; first, I don't post in months, and now I post two chapters in one week! A great big thank you to all those reviewed. It's much appreciated :-)**

Chapter 9

**Los Angelus, Summer of 2003**

Methos prowled the floor of the bedroom, his mind examining the last few days as he took another swig of his beer. "_What the hell have I been thinking_," he thought, worriedly. "_First, I let Tara run off on this harebrained adventure, _then_ I spill my guts to Rupert Giles, and _now_ I'm muttering to myself in a hotel room, while Tara's off chasing demons, and gods knows what…I must be getting soft in my old age."_

Grimacing, he threw himself into an easy chair and debated what to do. What he wouldn't do to have the Highlander in the room at the moment. "Retreat, my ass," he murmured discontentedly. "How many mantras does he need to chant before he feels _centred_ enough to rejoin the world? And where the bloody hell _is_ he, anyway?"

He wondered if he pleaded enough with Joe, he'd give up Mac's location. Officially, the wily old watcher didn't have a clue where Mac was – and Methos had hacked into the watcher files to verify that – but he'd bet an arm and a leg that Joe knew _exactly_ where Mac was holed up. He just wasn't telling.

But he needed _help_, gods damn it, he was useless at this kind of bloody thing. Demons he could deal with; hell, he could even put up with _magic,_ if he had to…but watching Tara rush headlong into a situation that not only put her life in danger, but her heart as well…damn it, weren't students supposed to do what they were _told_?

Methos sighed, he had gone and done what he'd promised himself he wouldn't do; he had gotten _attached_. "Serves me right, I suppose," he muttered. "MacLeod would laugh his head off, if he knew." Cursing under his breath, he took another swig and debated what to do next. He couldn't stay in this hotel room in the hope that Tara would call; the girl may be a few generations removed from her homeland, but she till had the stubbornness of a Scot.

Strolling back into Wolfram and Hart didn't appeal to him, either, but he didn't see anyway around it, not if he wished to protect his student from her own bloody mindedness. Who knew that such a well of obstinacy lurked beneath that quiet exterior?

Methos paused, a thought occurring to him. MacLeod may not be available, but the was one, _certain_ Immortal who was. An Immortal who had professed as certain fondness for Tara Maclay and, as it so happens, was in the States at the moment. Granted, she was on the other side of the country, shopping Fifth Avenue dry, but that's what airplanes were invented for. Sometimes, he really _loved _the 21st Century.

Grinning, he dialled her cell. There was no need to suffer this mess alone, misery _does_ love company.

It nearly rang out before she picked up.

"_Adam, darling, to what do I owe this pleasure_?" Amanda drawled over the line; as the sound of masculine laughter wafted in the background.

Methos raised an eyebrow. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"_Nothing I can't get back to, once we've finished this scintillating conversation." _Another laugh in the background greeted this comment, and Methos rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes, _very _amusing," he murmured. "So, how is New York?"

"_Entertaining, as always_," Amanda purred over the line. "_But that's not why you're calling, is it? Give me moment." _The sound of murmured conversation came over the line, and Methos waited patiently. It wouldn't do to antagonise Amanda. Not until he'd got her safely ensconced in Los Angeles.

He heard the distant click of a door closing, and Amanda came back onto the line. "_There,"_ she said, her tone more brisk. "_Now, tell me, what's wrong? Is it Duncan?"_

"What makes you think there's something wrong?"

"_How long have we known each other, Methos?"_

"Long enough," Methos said, warily.

"_And, during that time, how many times have you phoned me just to make a social call?"_

Well…I can't recall off hand…."

"_Try never."_

Methos blinked. "Really?"

"_Yes, really; so who's in trouble?" _Amanda demanded_. "I know it isn't Joe, because I was talking to him last night…oh no, it isn't Tara, is it? Is she okay?"_

Methos allowed himself a smile. "As a matter of fact, no, she isn't," he said. "Remember when I told you that Tara wanted to go and to see the remains of Sunnydale?"

"_Her old town? Yes, I remember but…oh no, **Methos**, you didn't!"_

"Yes, well, what can I say? She can be very persuasive sometimes."

A sigh echoed through the phone line. "_Methos, I can't believe you did something that stupid_. _The poor child is conflicted enough as it is."_

"It gets worse," Methos admitted, reluctantly.

"_How much worse?_" A pause. "_No, don't tell me, I can guess. Of all the idiotic, foolish—"_

"Yes, yes, I know," Methos interrupted, irritably.

"_Tell me, old man, how did someone as impulsive as you last so long?"_

"I believe the correct phrase to use, at this moment, involves black pots and kettles," he said, dryly. The silence on the other end of the phone seemed to go on interminably. "Amanda," he enquired. "Are you still there?"

"_Yes, I'm still here," _she said, eventually._ "You want me to come to L.A., don't you?"_

"Yes," Methos confessed, "I do."

There was another, lengthy pause. "_I'll be on the next plane. What hotel are you staying at_?

Relief flooded through him, and Methos quickly ran off the hotel's address and phone number.

"_I'll see you tonight_"

"Tonight," Methos confirmed. "And, Amanda?"

"_Yes?"_

"Thank you."

**Paris, Winter of 2002**

The girl lay on the spare bed, her stomach now neatly bandaged. Adam had given her a few painkillers as well as some antibiotics, but she still wasn't fully coherent. Tara shifted in her seat, taking a sip of her tea, as the girl murmured in her sleep. She still didn't know who the girl was, she had checked her pockets but, apart from a few Euro notes, they'd been empty.

"_Bringer…no, don't let them get you…must get to Sunnydale…Mitchell."_

Tara frowned, as she speculated who Mitchell was. She assumed that the 'Bringer' was what had attacked her in the alleyway. She also wondered if Adam had heard the poor girl's meanderings. If he had, he hadn't brought it up. She didn't know if she should be relieved or worried about that.

"_Bringer…bringer…NO!"_

The girl's eyes sprung open, and Tara jumped to her feet as she pushed the covers down and tried to get out of the bed.

" Don't, you're injured," she said, worriedly, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder to push her back into the bed. "You'll pull the stitches."

"You don't understand," the teenager panted. "I have to—" She grew still, her eyes widening as they took in her surroundings. "Where am I?"

"Somewhere safe," Tara said, as reassuringly as she could. "Do you have a name?"

"Elaine…but most people call me Lanny," she whispered, as she fell back into the bed. "Wow, this hurts."

"We gave you a few painkillers, but Adam didn't want to give you anything stronger because he was afraid you might have an adverse reaction, "Tara said, sympathetically.

"Adam?"

"A friend; this is his house," Tara murmured. "He's not here at the moment, he's at work. Where are you from? You sound English. "

She nodded. "Somerset," she murmured. "I remember you, now. You were the one who stopped them from killing me."

"Tara," Tara supplied, then winced inwardly. That was not a name she wanted travelling back to Sunnydale. "Tara Pierson," she added.

The girl grinned. "That was some pretty fancy sword work, Tara."

"It seemed the thing to do, at the time," Tara murmured, embarrassed.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"There's a Dojo in town," Tara said, prepared for the question. "I was on my way back from a class when I heard the fight."

"Lucky for me, huh?"

Tara shrugged. "I'm just happy I could help."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"Why did you bring me here? Why not a hospital?"

Tara sighed; she had been expecting this question too. "I didn't know exactly what had attacked you," she explained. "And before you passed out, you mentioned Sunnydale. I…I used to live there."

"Really? When?"

A long time ago," Tara lied. "Years ago, to be honest; I was still in High School at the time. But I remember that the hospitals weren't exactly the safest places to visit there, and…well…I had a good look at your attacker's faces. I didn't want to chance it."

Lanny nodded, obviously she was familiar enough with the denizens of Sunnydale for her tale to be believable…and it really wasn't that far off from the truth, after all. "Thanks, it was a good call."

"Good to know." Tara said, relieved.

"Listen, I need to get out of here," Lanny continued. "I appreciate everything you've done, but I'm supposed to be on a plane to the States at the moment. My Watc…g_uardian_ is going to be at his wits end."

"Tara raised an eyebrow at the slip. She had a Watcher? Remembering how Slayers were called, Tara's heart sank, did that mean that…no, Willow had said that another Slayer had already been called to replace Buffy, that's why there was Faith. So it must be Faith who—

Tara frowned, that didn't make sense, either. She had seen Lanny fight, and she definitely didn't have Slayer strength.

"Tara, are you okay?"

Tara looked up to see Lanny staring at her, concern on her face. "Yes, I'm fine," she said, softly, as she wondered how she got so good at lying. "I'm just worried that you'll aggravate your injuries if you move too soon."

"It probably will," Lanna admitted. "But I still need to get out of here, fast, or I'll have bigger worries…they seem to have a way of tracking me. "The word 'magic hung unsaid in the air.

"What do you need?" Tara said, simply.

"A phone," Lanny replied, relief lighting up her eyes. "My guardian will take care of the rest."

Nodding, Tara pulled out her cell and handed it over.

"Great…um, do you mind if I make this call in private?"

No, of course not."

Thanks, what's the address, by the way?"

Tara rattled off the address, and left as Lanna started dialling. Worriedly, she wondered who the new big bad was. It must be big if its reach stretched as far as Paris. She made her way to kitchen and looked around for something that Lanny could eat. "Soup," she murmured, and set about making a light meal.

Twenty minutes later, Tara climbed the stairs with a tray, and knocked on Lanny's door. "Is it okay, to come in?" she called out.

The voce was muffled through the door. "_Sure."_

Tara raised an eyebrow as she found Lanny standing gingerly on her feet. "I don't suppose you have anything I could wear that's a little more outdoorsy?" she asked, gesturing at the t-shirt and pyjama pants Tara had dressed her in, earlier. "Oh, food!" she added, spotting the tray in Tara's hand.

Placing the tray on the side table by the easy chair, Tara gave Lanny a lopsided grin. "I'll try to scrounge up something for you to wear. Your clothes were ruined, I'm afraid, but your shoes are okay. In the meantime, sit and eat," she suggested.

Lanny didn't need telling twice. "My guardian is going to be here in about thirty minutes," she said, between mouthfuls.

Nodding, Tara hurried to her room and rooted through her wardrobe. Six months of intensive martial arts training had caused her to lose a few pounds, but Lanny was petite, like Buffy. "It'll have to do, I suppose," Tara muttered, as she picked out a simple top and a long skirt with an elasticised waist.

She had barely made it back to Lanny's room, when the doorbell rang. "It's probably Mitchell," Lanny said, after a moment's pause. "He's always early."

"Your Guardian?"

Lanny nodded.

"Stay here," Tara murmured, shutting Lanny's door firmly behind her, before darting down the stairs and into the study, to retrieve her sword. Cautiously, she approached the door, putting the chain on the latch before opening it. A young man, in his mid twenties, stood on the doorstep.

"Um, Miss Pierson?" He said, nervously. "I'm Anthony Mitchell, Elaine's guardian. May I come in?"

One moment, " Tara murmured, taking off the chain. "Sorry about the reception," she apologised, as she opened the door wide. "Lanny said that the...men following her had a way of tracking her down."

Oh, yes, perfectly understandable," Mitchell said, eyeing the sword in Tara's hand.

"She's upstairs, second door on the left," Tara prompted, refusing to answer the question in his eyes.

"Oh, yes,"

Tara watched him climb the stairs, two at a time, before she closed the door and quickly returned her sword to the study. Mitchell was already aiding Lanny down the stairs by the time she made it back to the hall.

Looking up, Mitchell smiled briefly. "I must thank you, Miss Person, for all you've done for Lanny. In other circumstances, I might try to answer what questions you must have, but I'm afraid time is of the essence and we must go."

Tara smiled inwardly. Yes, definitely a watcher. "I understand."

"Yes, you do don't you?" he murmured, his eyes suddenly sharpening. "You know, you seem vaguely familiar to me…?"

Heart pounding, Tara managed a smile. "I'm sure I'd remember you if we'd met before, Mr Mitchell, " she said, opening the door

"Indeed."

"Bye Tara, Thank you, " Lanny said, hoarsely, her discomfort etched on her face.

"Bye, Lanny, good luck," Tara replied, softly.

Tara watched as the two slowly descended the steps and into the awaiting cab. "_Something tells me you're going to need all the luck you can get, Lanny_," she thought, sadly, closing the door.

**Los Angelus, Summer of 2003**

Giles was already busy, in Angel's conference room, when they found him. Apparently, the Wolframs and Hart's employees had heard a few stories about 'Ripper' and nobody dared contradict him when he started ordering them about. Not even Wesley… but then again, Wesley knew what it was to be Slayer's watcher, and what it felt like when your Slayer was in danger, Tara supposed

"Willow, thank God," he said, starting to stand before falling into back into his chair with a wince. "Damned stitches," he muttered under his breath, shooing an employee out of the chair beside him and gestured for Willow to sit. "I though they may have got you too."

"They nearly did," Willow admitted softly as she joined him at the table. "It was pure luck I managed to twist the direction of the spell before they got me…I mightn't be so lucky, if they try it again.

Unsure as to what to do, Tara hung by the door. A year ago, she'd been sure of her place in the group, a place she'd earned. But that was then, and this was now. Time had passed and the 'Scoobies' had moved on. They had gotten used to not having her around.

As if sensing her thoughts, Willow looked up and casually grabbed an extra chair. "Time to get to work," she said, simply, patting the seat. Smiling, Tara sat down beside her.

"So, what have we got so far," Willow asked, her tone businesslike as she turned to Giles.

"Not much," Giles muttered. "I have everyone researcher in this godforsaken place looking for a copy of the spell used, but nothing has turned up so far.

"Maybe we should assign a few Slayers to look over their shoulders," Willow suggested, slyly. "It might help to motivate them.

Giles lips twitched as a quiver of unease spread through the employees in the room. "A capital idea," he said, amused, nodding at a slayer who was lounging against the far wall. With a knowing smirk, the Slayer swiftly left the room.

"Good," Willow said, briskly, "So what's next on the agenda?"

Tara looked on as Willow and Giles talked briefly about the logistics involved in a large scale Slayer operation, amazed at the changes in their relationship. At some point, over the last year, they had gone from teacher and student, to equals.

"Where's Spike," Willow asked, suddenly. "Dawn mentioned that he popped out, briefly, before reappearing.

"He's with Wesley and Fred," Giles said. "They're hoping they can figure out where he went by using some king of spectrometer Fred has devised. Arturo went along with them."

"Who's Arturo?" Tara piped up.

"Oh, that's Buffy's friend." Willow said, "You know? The other Immortal?"

Tara nodded, unease rising inside her, in all the excitement she forgotten about Buffy's new 'friend'. She had never met an Immortal, who hadn't been formally introduced by Adam, before. This would be the first time she would meet an Immortal who was also a stranger. Images of the Game rose in her mind.

"Relax," Willow said, smiling as she caught the expression on her face. "I'll introduce you. He's the perfect gentleman, and a good friend. Let's go find them, shall we?" Tara nodded, and smiled nervously as Willow got her feet.

Tara followed as Willow made her way, unerringly, towards the labs. "Wait 'til you see this," Willow said, excitedly. "Their facilities are amazing. I'm trying to convince Giles to create a similar set up in Cleveland. No need for the bad guys to have _all_ the cool toys." They paused before a pair of glass doors, and Willow quickly swiped a card, smiling as the door slid open with a hiss.

Tara had barely made her way through the doors, when the presence of another Immortal shivered up her spine.

"What's wrong," Willow asked, seeing the expression on her face.

"It's nothing, just goose bumps," Tara said.

"Yes, the thermostatic controls are set very low in here, aren't they?" Willow said as she made her way towards the far door. "It's because of all the lab equipment."

"Oh," Tara muttered, hollowly, as she cautiously followed Willow into the other room.

"Oy! Would you stop doing that, it tickles!" Spike sniped at Fred, before turning to look at them. "Hey, Red, any leads," he said, worry colouring his voice.

"We're still working on it," Willow said. "How about you?"

"Well, we've discovered that Fred's gadget can tickle ghosts, but that's about it," he snorted.

"That's a good sign," Fred protested, as she opened up the side of the small device she held in her hands. . "It means that the spectrometer can interact with your molecules. With a few more tweaks, I can probably get it to read them more accurately."

"Well, hurry it up a bit, luv, we haven't got all day," Spike said, irritably.

"I'm working as fast as I can, Spike. Now stop belly aching, I know you're worried, but don't take it out on me!"

"I'm just saying," he muttered.

Tara smiled, it seemed that Fred had got Spike's number; good for her. A polite cough filled the room, and Tara's eyes slid to the figure that she'd avoided looking at, since she'd entered the room.

"Arturo De Longi, at your service," he said, smiling as he got to his feet and held out his hand. "And you must be the lovely Tara Maclay.

"Um, yes, how do you do," Tara said, shaking his hand as his smile grew wider.

"I had heard that you were travelling with your teacher." he enquired.

"He's resting at the hotel," Tara muttered, ignoring the Willow's snort.

"Is that so?" Arturo said, softly. "And which hotel is that?"

A sense of foreboding crawled through Tara as she caught the steely glint in his smiling eyes.

"Oh, just some place down town," she said, vaguely, before hurriedly turning to Willow. "So, what's next on the agenda?" she said, brightly, hoping the shake in her voice wasn't noticeable.

Spike's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing. "You okay, Glinda?"

"Me? I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" Tara said, grabbing Willow's arm. "C'mon, let's go find Giles again." _Before Arturo starts asking more questions_, she mentally added.

"Oh, okay," Willow said, letting Tara drag her out of the room. "We'll be back," she called over her shoulder."

"I look forward to it," Arturo said, pleasantly.

But Tara wasn't fooled; she'd seen the intention in his eyes.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

"Tara, _Tara,_" what's wrong," Willow asked, hurrying after her down the hallway.

"Nothing," Tara said. "I…I...just remembered there was something I had to do.

Willow laid a hand on her arm, halting her in his tracks. "This is about Arturo, isn't it?" she murmured.

"What makes you think that?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe it was the way you ran out of that room like a scalded cat," Willow said, dryly. "Listen, I know this Adam fellow has probably filled your head with all sorts of stories about other immortals, but Arturo's okay. He wouldn't harm a fly."

Tara sighed. "Willow, don't you think it was a little strange that he was so keen to know where Adam was?" he enquired.

"Not…not really," Willow muttered.

Tara stared at her, and something clicked into place. "Willow, what did you do?"

"Nothing!" Willow insisted. "I mean, nothing _bad._ It's just that Adam seems to have so much influence over you. I…I…wanted to know why, so I asked Arturo to check him out for me."

"Let me get this straight," Tara said, flatly. "You told Arturo that you were worried about me, and asked him to _check_ Adam out for you."

"Uhuh," Willow said, nodding. "So you see, completely innocent, nothing to worry about."

"_Willow_, Arturo is an Immortal."

"So? So are you."

Tara took a deep breath, willing herself not to panic. "You're not getting it, Willow. Arturo is an Immortal, Adam is an Immortal; you've just insisted that Arturo is a good friend. You've also told Arturo you were worried about Adam's influence over me…and I'm _guessing _you used stronger language when you told him."

Willow's cheeks darkened. "Well, maybe a little," she muttered.

Tara groaned. "Willow, you do realise that Arturo may have misinterpreted what you said?"

"What? _No_," Willow said, realisation dawning. "Arturo wouldn't do _that_."

"Oh, wouldn't he?" Tara said, worriedly. "Funny, I'm not so sure about that. Come on, we need to clear this up quickly - before it gets any worse." she added, retracing her steps down the hallway.

"I still think you're wrong," Willow said, hurrying along beside her.

"Willow, even if I am wrong, have you ever considered how Adam would react if Arturo suddenly turned up, unannounced, on his doorstep?" Tara asked.

"He wouldn't just attack him for ringing on his doorbell…would he?" Willow asked, doubtfully, as they neared the labs."

"Do you want to take that chance—" Tara frowned, pausing mid-sentence as Willow opened the lab door, something wasn't right….

"What's wrong," Willow asked.

"I don't sense him," Tara said, realisation striking.

"Sense him?" Willow asked, startled, as Tara raced across the room and threw open the door.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

Fred yelped, nearly dropping the scanner in her hand "Where's who?"

"The Immortal ponce," Spike said, understanding immediately. "He just left."

Tara's heart dropped, what if she was too late? "Where did he go?"

"Not sure luv," he muttered, frowning. "He got a phone call just after you left, and said he had an errand to do."

Hurriedly, Tara searched her pocket and pulled out her cell. "I've got to warn him," she muttered.

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Warn who, luv?"

"Adam," Tara said, putting the phone to ear.

"She thinks that Arturo is trying to kill Adam," Willow supplied, disbelief showing in her voice.

"Yeah, sounds like something that prat would do," Spike said, darkly.

Fred rolled her eyes. "Oh please, you're just jealous because he's dating Buffy."

"Yeah, that's it," Spike drawled. "It's got absolutely nothin' to do with the two days I spent being tortured in his private dungeon."

"_What_?" squeaked Willow. "You're making that up."

I wish," Spike snarled. "If you don't believe me, ask the puff when he gets back, he was there too. I wouldn't mind, but do you know what he was up to while his flunkies were chaining us up? He was back in our lair shagging Darla and Dru, that's what he was doing. Bloody unbelievable he is."

"He's not picking up," Tara said, anxiously. "Why isn't he picking up?"

"Don't panic," Willow said, breathlessly. "I'm sure there's nothing to panic about. What did you do to annoy him?" she demanded, turning to Spike.

"We were on his turf," Spike said, shrugging. "To him, that's reason enough."

Tara paled. "What would he do to another Immortal, Spike?" she asked, softly, as she listen to Adam's phone ring, unanswered.

"Couldn't say for sure, luv," Spike said, frowning. "Until you showed up, I didn't know that there _were_ other immortals."

"I've got to get to the hotel," Tara said, coming to decision. "Head him off before somebody ends up dead."

Willow frowned. "But Buffy and Kennedy—"

"You've got the Watchers council and all of _this _place looking for them, Willow," Tara said, frustrated. "I think you can do without me for a few hours."

"But you can't go by yourself," Willow protested. "You might get hurt."

Tara gave Willow a long look. "Are you saying you want to come with me?"

Willow's face fell. "I…I can't leave, Tara," she said, "I've got responsibilities."

"So do I, Willow," Tara said, sadly. "I can't just sit here and hope for the best."

"Right then," Spike said. "I'll come with you!" Willow and Fred threw him a look "What? Someone's got to keep an eye on Glinda."

"You're a ghost, Spike, how exactly are you going to help?" Willow pointed out.

Spike shrugged. "I'm not exactly helping here, Red, am I?" he said. "Fred's been poking at me with that thing for the last hour, and we still haven't come up with any ideas. At least this way, I'll be doing something, and not waiting for…" Spike trailed of, leaving Buffy's name unsaid.

"Okay," Tara said, taking a breath. " We both go."

"That's the spirit," said Spike, grinning. "Lead the way."

"Tara?"

Tara looked at Willow, her heart breaking a little as she saw the expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Willow, I have to do this."

Willow nodded resignedly. "Just make sure you come back," she said, quietly. "I…I don't think I could handle losing you again."

Tara's breath caught in her throat, recognising the expression on Willow's face. Impulsively, she grabbed Willow's hand and squeezed it. "I'm not going to disappear again, Willow," she said, lowly. "I promise."

Willow's lip trembled. "You'd better not," she muttered hoarsely. "Because this time I'll come after you. _Do you hear me_?"

Tara smiled crookedly, and let her hand go. "Come on, Spike, time to leave. "

****

**Paris, Spring of 2003**

The first attack came two weeks after the slayer left for Sunnydale. If Adam hadn't been there, there wouldn't have needed to be a second.

Tara, get _down_."

The glass splintered through the air and Tara dove for the floor as the cloaked figure threw himself through the window, landing on the table she'd been sitting at. "Where did it come from?" she gasped out, rolling back onto her feet.

"Damned if I know," Adam muttered, pulling her behind him. "Have you taken a good look at its eyes?"

Tara nodded, her mouth drying. "It doesn't seem to slow them down," she muttered.

"You recognise it?"

"It looks like one of those things that attacked Lanny," Tara admitted reluctantly, as it produced a wickedly sharp knife. "It's called a Bringer."

Adam threw a dark look over his shoulder. "You and I are going to have a _long_ talk after this, kid." Grasping his Ivanhoe with both hands, he eyed the advancing creature, as Tara hastily grabbed a poker from the fireplace. "Where the hell is your sword," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"It's in the study."

"Damn it, Tara, how many times do I have to tell you…"

"We're in the kitchen, Adam, how was _I _to know that I'd need to wear it for dinner?"

"This is _not _the time for jokes."

"I wasn't joking!"

A stream of Latin burst out of Adam's mouth, and the Bringer took it as its cue to attack.

Tara winced as she recognised some of the words coming out of his mouth as the cloaked figure leapt on him. "Sorry," she called out.

"Sorry doesn't cut it!" he bit out as he parried away the knife and sliced through the cloak. Blood spilled to the floor and the Bringer screamed, it's voice echoing off the walls.

"Great, just great," Adam snapped. "If the gendarmes end up on our door, _you'll _be the one talking to them." Grimly, he swung his sword and decapitated it, letting the eyeless head roll across the floor.

For a moment, silence reigned in the room and Adam bent over to catch his breath.

"Adam, I'm—"

"I don't want to hear it," Adam said flatly, cutting her off. "Just get the garbage bags, we'll need to do a body dump."

****

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

His mobile rang on the passenger seat and Methos glanced at it, his mouth twisting as Tara's name flashed on the screen. Ignoring it, he pulled into the parking spot. All things considered, it was probably best to wait until he had Amanda at his side before they spoke again. Strange as it was, the two seemed to get on very well. It had surprised Methos at first, Amanda didn't have many female friends; but after a while, he figured it out.

Tara reminded her of Rebecca

Methos shook his head in amusement, and wondered why it took him so long to see it. The sense of honour, the quick intelligence, the flashes of mischievous humour, it was all so obvious… come to think of it, Duncan displayed all those traits as well.

It made you about what went on in Amanda's head…or his own, for that matter. Grimacing, he tucked the thought away, the last thing he needed right now was a quiet moment of introspection He had enough on his plate.

The mobile went silent, and Methos tucked it into his jeans pocket before shrugging out of his coat. Airport security frowned on those who carried a sword into the arrivals lounge; he sometimes missed the days when people were armed as a matter of course. It had been over a century since he's been able to carry his sword openly. "_Getting old, old man_," he though, ruefully, as he stepped out of the car and locked it behind him.

The terminal was alive with people and Methos peered over their heads to check the arrival times from New York. It looked like Amanda's flight had landed. He made his way towards the gate, smiling as he felt the presence of another Immortal. He'd never thought he'd see the day he'd be relieved to see the wily old troublemaker.

"Adam Pierson?"

Methos stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned. "I don't believe we've met," he said coolly, as he eyed the dapperly dressed Immortal who'd appeared though the crowd.

"My name is Arturo De Longi," he purred. "Perhaps you have heard of me?"

"Doesn't ring a bell, sorry," Methos said dryly. "Should it?"

The Immortal's amiable expression faded. "I'm a friend of Ms Rosenberg. She wished for me to speak to you."

"Ah, I see," Methos said, recognising Willow's surname. "Tell me, how did Willow know I'd be here."

"To tell the truth, she didn't," Arturo said. "In fact, I'm as surprised to see you here, as you are to see me."

Methos raised an eyebrow. "So, you're what? Taking a little trip?"

"I'm here on a personal matter," he said, stiffly. "It has just come to my attention that a certain old problem of mine has flown into town."

"Does this problem have a name?" Methos asked, already uncomfortably sure he knew the answer.

"The foul wretch goes by the name of Amanda Darieux," he said, flicking at his coat. "The woman had the temerity to oppose my wishes, in my own city, a few centuries back."

"And you've been tracking her movement's ever since?" Methos asked, surprised. "Obsessive compulsive much?"

Scowling, Arturo folded his arms. "I find it good practice to not let this kind of thing slide," he said, flatly. "Unpleasant people should be dealt with unpleasantly, don't you think?" he added meaningfully.

"Oh, I agree _completely_," Methos drawled, smirking as the insult sank in.

"I see what Ms Rosenberg means," he said stiffly. "It is obvious your influence over your student could not be positive."

"Ms Rosenberg doesn't know what the _hell_ she's talking about," Methos shot back. "And you can _can_ the act, the false gentility is getting a little grating."

Arturo's eyes narrowed. "I can assure you, dear sir, this is no _act_."

"And I can assure _you_, dear _sir_, that I'm fast running out of patience. My relationship with my student is none of your business, and I'd strongly suggest you give her a wide berth…and you can forget about Amanda too, while you're at it."

"I should have known that you'd be the kind to consort with that thief," snorted Arturo, disdain dripping from his voice.

"Yes, yes, I'm an ill mannered serf. Now bugger off and leave me in peace before—" The presence of another Immortal impinged on his senses, and Methos sighed. "_Why me?"_

"Ah, it seems Ms Darieux is about to join us," Arturo said, smugly.

"Adam? Is that you?" Amanda's said, as she appeared through the throng. "Be a dear and…oh."

"Oh? Is that all you have to say to me after all this time?" Arturo asked.

"What were you expecting, Arturo, a warm kiss?" Amanda snapped.

"How dare you, I gave you everything your heart could desire and you threw it back in my face!"

"What did you expect me to do, you practically kept me as your _prisoner!"_

"Prisoner? What the hell is going on here?" Methos asked.

"Do you mind? I'm trying to have a conversation with my wife." Arturo snapped

"I am _not _your wife, you crazy fool, "Amanda stated, slipping behind Methos. "Adam, _say_ something!"

Methos closed his eyes. "I can safely say I'm lost for words, Amanda,"

"Some husband you've turned out to be."

Methos's glared at her. "_Amanda_," he said, warningly.

"Husband?" Arturo echoed. "You're married to this man?"

"Why else would he be picking me up at the airport?"

"I was thinking the same thing myself," muttered Methos

"That's it!" Arturo roared. "I demand _satisfaction_."

Methos opened his mouth and Amanda pinched his arm, glaring at him; Methos glared back. "You don't want to challenge me, Arturo," he said, pulling his arm out of Amanda's reach. "Trust me, it's not worth it."

"I beg to differ, Pierson," Arturo snarled. "You have besmirched my honour, and now you shall _pay._ I shall see you on the roof of Wolfram and Hart tonight – and don't skip town," he added, turning to leave. " Remember, I know where your student is."

Methos stared after the Immortal as he stalked out of the complex. "This had better be good, Amanda," he said, rounding on her. "Or you and I are you going to have _words_."

"You're not going to like it, Methos," Amanda said, soberly.

"Oh, I think it's safe to say I've already figured that out.

TBC 


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

Not trusting himself to speak, Methos kept his mouth shut as they crossed the car park. How the hell did the Highlander put up with this? He'd have strangled her _centuries_ ago. Grimly, he unlocked the car, and silently gestured to her to get in.

"It's not my fault!" The words tumbled out of Amanda's mouth the moment the doors were shut

"It never is, Amanda," Methos sniped, starting up the engine. "Yet somehow you always end up in the thick of it. I needed _help_, woman, not _more_ trouble heaped onto my plate."

"How was I to know he'd be in town?" Amanda protested. "The man hasn't left Milan in over three _centuries_."

"What the hell did you do to him? Three centuries is a long time to hold a grudge."

"I…I was there to retrieve something," she admitted. "But it's _not_ what you think."

Methos's grip tightened on the wheel. "It better not be, Amanda. I'd hate to think I'm risking my head because you couldn't keep your sticky fingers to yourself."

"I _knew_ you'd react this way."

"React like what, Amanda?" Methos shot back. "Like someone who's been dropped in it by someone he foolishly thought he could trust?"

"I didn't mean to," Amanda said. "The words just slipped out."

Methos kept his eyes on the road as he tried to rein in his temper. "How about you just tell me what happened?" he bit out. He heard Amanda take a deep breath beside him.

"Did you know he was one of Rebecca's students?" She asked quietly.

Startled, he shot a look at her. "I though you were the only one left."

"The only one with whom she entrusted a piece of the stone, yes," Amanda said. "But there were others, the ones she considered her failures."

Methos's heart sunk. Rebecca had been a tenacious teacher, for her to give up on a student… "Tell me more."

Amanda sighed, leaning back in her seat. "He was an Tuscan nobleman," she said. "The DeLongis weren't the most powerful family in Milan, but they were distant relatives to the Borgias in Florence, which meant a lot in those days, if you remember."

Methos nodded. The Borgia's family name still lived on in the history books, famous for their wealth and power…or infamous, it depended on the way you looked at it.

"He died in a duel," Amanda went on. "Some silly little thing involving a courtesan's favours. I can't remember the details, but they aren't really important, I suppose. Rebecca found him, drunk as a skunk, in one of the sailor taverns in Florence. Apparently, he had been stupid enough to go home after his death had already been reported. They sent a lynch mob after him, and he was lucky to escape the city without dying a second time."

Methos winced. "Doesn't sound pleasant."

"No, I suppose it wasn't," Amanda admitted. "Anyway, Rebecca took pity on him, and convinced him to travel to Normandy with her. He stayed with her for three years; Rebecca said he had a lot of aptitude. She had never seen a student so eager to learn. Unfortunately, she hadn't realised his motives at the time."

"I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Well, I _did_ warn you," Amanda said, dryly.

Methos rolled his eyes. "Go on."

"The thing you have to understand about Arturo," Amanda told him. "Is that his death scarred him permanently. Before his death he was an aristocrat, a man of power and respect. He'd spent his entire life believing that his position in life was unassailable, that _he_ was unassailable, so when his family turned on him…he didn't take it very well."

"What happened, Amanda?"

"After his training was complete, Rebecca gave him one of the shards and sent him on his way, she never saw it coming. He was so polite, so deferential, there wasn't a hint of his intentions," said Amanda. "The first thing he did was return to Milan. Apparently, he just strolled into his family's home and slaughtered them, every single one. Not even the children escaped."

Methos's eyes widened. "What did Rebecca do?"

"You remember what communications were like in those day, Methos. She didn't even know what had happened until a decade later. She was furious, to say the least." Amanda moved restlessly in her seat. "The first thing she did, of course, was hop onto the first ship to Italy. Arturo wasn't stupid, however, he had been expecting that; which is why, when she tried to gain entrance to his Palazzo, she got a nasty surprise."

Methos raised an eyebrow; it took a lot to surprise Rebecca. The unflappable Mycean had been over three thousand years old when she died, and she'd had the experience to prove it. "What did he do?"

"He used magic, mortal magic," Amanda told him, studying his face.

Methos took a deep breath. "Go on."

"What, no denials? I'm astonished."

"Let's just say I've been having a crash course, the last few days, and leave it at that, shall we?"

"Tara eventually opened up, didn't she?"

Methos stared at her "You knew?"

"I knew," Amanda admitted. "She asked me a lot of questions about the subject a few months ago, and I managed to drag it out of her. The poor girl didn't know what had happened to her."

"What _did _happen?"

"I don't really know, to tell the truth. Rebecca once mentioned that it had something to do with energy flows. The power tends to flow into different abilities after your first death… heightened empathy, the ability to influence another's thoughts - some immortals even develop an aptitude for illusion,"

Methos's mind flitted to Cassandra. "I see…but if this is true, how was Arturo able to utilise mortal magic?"

"There are ways to get around the block, apparently, but Rebecca shied away from them; she said it involved the deepest black magic."

"Arturo doesn't seem to suffer from the same sensibilities," Methos mused aloud.

"No, he really doesn't," Amanda agreed. "His entire house was caught in the web of a protection spell that automatically released a rather nasty demon the moment a strange Immortal crossed his threshold. She was lucky to escape with her life."

"So how did you enter the picture? Surely she didn't expect you to kill him?"

Amanda shuddered. "Are you kidding? With his power, he'd eat me alive. You'd have to be _crazy_ to challenge him." Methos threw her a look. "Oh, yes… did I mention that I was really sorry about that?"

"Just finish the story, Amanda,"

"She needed to get back the Methuselah shard she'd given him, and I was perfect candidate to get it."

"Let me get this straight. Rebecca asked you to steal it?"

"_Retrieve_ it," Amanda countered, scowling. "There's a difference."

"I don't understand…surely Arturo knew you were Rebecca's student."

"Oh, he _did,_" Amanda said, smugly. "He also knew I was a liar and a thief. A bad reputation can come in handy, sometimes. So when I visited Milan and caught his eye, I made sure I already had a believable story set up. You should have seen me, darling; it was the performance of a lifetime! _Oh, oh, poor me…my mentor doesn't understand me and has cast me out from the fold…oh, oh!_"

Methos laughed, despite himself. "You're incorrigible, do you know that?"

"It's one of my more attractive traits," Amanda drawled. "Anyway, a few months down the line, he'd ensconced me in his house, and was introducing me as his wife. Not the most pleasant period of my life, but I grinned and endured it. It took me two months to find the spot he stashed it. Needless to say, I hightailed it out of there, the moment I found it. Some of the rooms in his Palazzo _still_ give me nightmares…I did mention the black magic, didn't I?"

Yes, I believe we covered the subject," Methos said dryly.

"Is this the moment when I tell you how very, very sorry I am again? Because I _am,_ you know. You can't go through with the challenge of course, you wouldn't stand a chance."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Methos said, amusement colouring his voice. "I do believe there is a certain red-headed witch that owes me an apology and a favour."

"Is there indeed?" Amanda gave him a considering look. "And who would that be?"

"Willow Rosenburg."

**Paris, Spring of 2003**

"You look like shit, old man," Joe observed as Methos flopped onto the barstool.

"Gee, thanks, Joe," Methos said, smirking. "Glad to see you're so concerned about my looks."

Joe shrugged. "Just saying," he said. "What will it be, the usual?

"Please, it's been a long day."

Joe looked at him sharply. "Another one of those crazy 'Bringer' guys?"

Methos nodded, leaning on the counter. "Yeah."

"How many does that make it, three, four?"

"Make that five, they're starting to come in pairs."

"Man, they're really piling up, aren't they?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Methos asked, sharply,

"Relax, I'm not judging you. I'd probably do the same thing if I was in your position."

Methos slumped in his seat. "Sorry, Joe, guess I'm feeling a bit touchy at the moment."

"No leads on why they want her dead so badly?" Joe enquired, handing him the beer bottle before grabbing one for himself.

"Nothing other than what Tara told me; that they're the same things that attacked the girl in the alley," Methos grumbled.

"You still think she's holding back?"

I _know _she's holding back, Joe. I'm just not sure what she's keeping from me." Methos took a gulp from the bottle. "Ah, that's better."

"You know, maybe you should sit her down and ask her tell you a little more about her life before she died. It might shed a bit of light, make her open up a bit."

Methos grimaced. "Not a good, idea, Joe," he said. "She's been dwelling on Sunnydale too much as it is, recently."

"Really?" Joe asked. "Maybe she's trying to tell you something."

"You mean, other than the fact she misses her old life?" Methos shook his head. "Leave it alone, Joe."

"So, if you're not here to talk, why are you here, then?" Joe asked.

"Maybe I just needed a beer?"

"Yeah, right! I haven't seen you this stressed out since that Ahriman incident."

"You had to bring that up, didn't you?" Methos muttered.

"I'm just saying that the world isn't always as it seems, Methos. You know, what they say, "There are more things on Heaven an Earth than are…"

"…dreamed of, in your philosophy," Methos finished, irritably. "I think things are bad enough without dragging old Bill into it, don't you? He was a boring old fart, anyway. Marlowe was a lot more fun."

"Really?" Joe asked, perking up. "Why? What did he say…aw _shit_! You trying to distract me, aren't you? Well it ain't gonna work, buster! You need to start listening to Tara, instead of just telling her what to do. She may be a kid, in your eyes, but she's more than able to make her own decisions."

"And what if she gets hurt, Joe?" Methos asked, toying with the bottle. "What then?"

"Let's put it this way, old man, how long can keep this up? You can't be by her side twenty four seven. Sooner or later they're going to catch her off guard, and _you_ won't be there to help."

Methos eyed the old blues man. "Mortals aren't supposed to be this smart, you know."

"Yeah, well, I guess it comes with the grey beard. Talk to her, Methos, asks _her_ what she wants to do.

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

"Doesn't look like he's here, luv," Spike said, as they entered the hotel suite.

"I realise that, Spike," Tara said, homing in on the coffee table, and the notepad placed upon it. Where _was _he? Had Arturo already got to him?

"Oh, right, that 'buzz' thing you were telling me about," Spike muttered. "Must come in handy, that."

"Um? Oh…yes," Tara answered, her eyes scanning the notebook.

"What's that?" he asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Flight details," She said, shortly.

"He's leaving? Funny, I didn't think he'd do that."

"No, these are arrival times." Tara frowned puzzled. "Although who—" The buzz crawled up her spine, and she straightened. "We've got company," she said, pulling out her sword.

"Bloody hell!" Spike eyed the blade. "You really _do _carry one of those around in your coat."

"It's a thing…besides, _you're _one to talk"

"Hey, Fists and fangs, that's me!" Spike protested. "I don't need any other weapons."

"Wasn't that the line you used on Buffy?"

"The bloody woman really did tell you everything, didn't she?" he complained. "What else did she spill?"

Tara smirked. "Wouldn't _you_ like to know?"

Spike groaned. "_Women."_

"Oh, stop protesting so much," Tara said, snorting. "I know very well that you're secretly pleased Buffy gossiped so much about you; makes you feel all special."

"I'm am _not_—"

A knock on the door, punctured his bluster, and Tara felt the tension fall from her shoulders as Adam's dry voice wafted through the door. "Tara? "

"Adam!" she cried out, pulling the door open. "Where were… _Amanda_?"

"Hello sweetie," Amanda said, hugging her. "How are you?"

"Better now that you're here," she said, pulling Adam into the hug too.

"My, my," Adam drawled. "Last time we met, you were ready to thwack me. What happened?"

"Arturo DeLongi, that's what happened, mate," Spike drawled, from inside the room

Adam's eyes narrowed. "He didn't try to hurt you, did he?"

"What? No! It was _you_ he was after, not me… but don't worry; it's all a misunderstanding. I'll get it cleared up."

"Tara, listen to me," Adam said, suddenly serious. "You're not to approach DeLongi, under _any_ circumstances."

"But you don't understand—"

"No, Tara, it's _you_ who doesn't understand. DeLongi and I have already met, and it didn't go too well. He made certain…threats."

Tara's mouth went dry as she caught the expression on Amanda's face. "What happened, Adam? Oh Goddess, he didn't challenge you, did he?"

"Let's all sit down, shall we," Amanda said, covering the resulting silence. "I don't think you'll want to be standing up for this

Tara carefully examined Adams' expression as he brushed past her into the suite. They had been through some sticky times over the last few months, but she'd never seen him looking so…so…_grim_.

"Sit down, Tara," Amanda reminded her gently, nudging her back into the room.

Not knowing what else to do, Tara silently obeyed, perching on the edge of the armchair as she searched their faces "So, which one of you is going to tell me the bad news?"

"Amanda, I think the honour should be yours," Adam said, dryly.

"Very well." Amanda pulled a face and launched into her story, explaining how she and Arturo had first met. Numbly, Tara slid into the armchair when Amanda finished recounting her history with DeLongi. How they hell did he mange to keep this a secret from Buffy?"

"Buffy always did have a blind spot when it came to her lovers, Glinda," Spike said, as if he knew what she was thinking. "She went out with _me,_ remember?"

"That's different," Tara said, frowning at him.

"They didn't call me William the bloody for nothing, luv. It was a name well earned," Spike reminded her. "I may have a soul now, but I didn't when we were lovers. Sometimes, the Slayer doesn't see what's in front of her face…she doesn't _want_ to see it."

Tara shook her head in bewilderment. "Black magic? Are you sure?" she asked, turning to Amanda.

"As positive as I can be," the Immortal said. "I'm afraid I don't know as much about it as my teacher did. I never had the gift for magic, you see."

Tara nodded. "Well, there's nothing for it," she said. "We'll have to confront him. Force him to the tell the truth."

"Hold on there, Sundance," Adam drawled. "Don't you think it would be best if we had a plan in place before we go charging after him?"

"Why? Do you have something in mind?"

Adam's eyes glinted. "As a matter of fact, I _do_."

**TBC**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12 

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

Nervously, Tara twisted the napkin in her hand. She had asked Willow to meet them at Molly's Diner, as it was the first place that sprung to mind when she phoned, but perhaps it wasn't such a good idea. The customers had changed since this morning but, from the way the waitress's hand trembled when she poured the coffee, Tara guessed she'd been present when they'd made their grand entrance that morning.

But they had needed a place to meet other than Wolfram and Hart, as DeLongi had no doubt returned there after meeting Adam and Amanda at the airport. Her mind went through Adam's plan. It could work, she supposed, but it depended a lot on whether Willow would agree to it. They're had been a time when she would never had doubted Willow's eagerness to help her. But that was then, and this is now.

"She's here," Adam murmured, and Tara looked up to see Willow enter the diner, feeling the familiar leap in her heart when she caught sight of her. Some things never changed.

"Tara?" Willow asked, as she approached the table, eyeing Amanda worriedly.

"Hi, thanks for coming," Tara said, trying to keep the nerves out of her voice.

Willow frowned as she sat at the table. "Of course I came, silly. Why? Did you think I _wouldn't_?"

Tara shrugged. "I kind of got that impression when we last talked," she said, softly.

"That was different," Willow said, her eyes flickering to Adam. "I know you were worried, but I honestly didn't believe he was in danger. Seems I was right about that, by the way, because here he is, head still attached."

"Willow," Tara said. "I'm sorry but you were wrong…in fact, things are much worse than you believe. Arturo is…" Tara took a deep breath. "Arturo is a black practitioner."

Willow let out a startled laugh. "Tara, don't be silly, I've known the guy nearly a year, and I've never even seen him perform a cantrip, never mind a black spell.

"Willow, listen to yourself," Tara sighed. "You're the right-hand woman of the chosen one, protector of the innocent, if he was practising back magic, do you really think he'd give you a demonstration?"

"Goddess, you're serious, aren't you?" Willow said, leaning back in her chair. "Tara, do know how this sounds? This is Buffy's boyfriend we're talking about. Don't you think she'd notice if something wasn't right?" Spike snorted, and Willow glared at him, before turning to Tara once more. "You haven't been listening to Spike, haven't you? Because you know their history…"

"Yes, Willow, I do," Tara interrupted. "And I probably know more about Buffy's relationship with him than you do. Buffy isn't infallible, honey, she doesn't see everything."

Reluctantly, Willow nodded. "I suppose that's true," she murmured, "She told me you helped her through some rough times when she first…first came back. But, even so, what makes you think Arturo is a black witch? " Suddenly, Willow sat upright in her chair. "Oh Goddess, he didn't do something to you, did he? Are you alright—"

"I'm _fine_, Willow, I'm fine," Tara reassured her.

"But she mightn't be if we don't resolve this soon," Adam added, darkly.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Willow asked, suspicion in her voice.

"I think, perhaps, that this is my cue," Amanda interrupted. " I'm Amanda, by the way, Amanda Darieux. Please excuse Adam's rudeness in not introducing us. He's getting a little grumpy in his old age."

"Willow Rosenberg," Willow supplied, her inherent politeness kicking in. "Are you a…a…"

"An Immortal?" Amanda suggested, her cheeks dimpling. "Guilty as charged. It's nice to meet you at last, Tara has told me _so_ much about you."

"She _has_?" Tara felt her cheeks blushing as Willow smiled at her. "Only good things, I hope?"

"Oh, _definitely_," Amanda drawled, grinning cheekily.

"Can we get back on topic, please?" Adam asked, dryly. "We're running on a deadline here, remember?"

"And just when things were getting interesting," Spike grumbled.

"No, he's right," Amanda sighed. "I'm sorry, Willow, but they are a few things you need to know about Arturo's history, and it isn't pleasant." Briefly, Amanda filled her in, adding. "They are other aspects of his history that I'm not personally acquainted with, so Adam and I got our hands on some extra material you should read. You are familiar with the Watchers?"

Amanda nodded to Adam, who produced the file they'd downloaded from the Watcher database. Tara ferverently hoped Joe didn't catch onto them; he took a very dim view of Adam hacking into it.

"I suppose you mean the ones that follow Immortals round, not our kind of Watchers?" Willow murmured, as she flipped it open. "Wesley mentioned them."

Amanda nodded. "There isn't much there to prove his involvement in black magic, I'm afraid. I'm afraid _our_ kind of watchers don't have the knowledge to recognise it when they see it, but I think you'll find it interesting, nonetheless."

Willow's face darkened as she flipped through the pages and Tara winced as she saw a flicker of power dance across her fingers. "He was a Nazi," she said, flatly.

"A fascist, yes," Amanda said. "I presume you are familiar with Mussolini's alliance with Germany in World War Two?"

Willow gave her a look. "My name is Rosenberg, what do _you_ think?"

Amanda grimaced. "Sorry, darling, I wasn't thinking."

Willow firmly closed the file. "I've read enough," she said, quietly. "And I presume you didn't show me this for entertainment value, which means you have something in mind. Why don't you tell me?"

Adam leaned forward in his seat. "As Amanda has already told you, DeLongi has issued me a challenge," he said. "I've seen what you can do, and Tara assures me that there isn't anybody that can beat you when it comes to raw power. I'm pretty sure I can beat Arturo in a fair fight, but if he decides to up the stakes …" Adam shrugged. "I need someone to make sure that doesn't happen."

Willow nodded, understanding. "You need me to bind his powers."

"Can you do that?"

Willow gave him a cold smile, and Tara shivered, hoping that they hadn't pushed her too far. "I think I might be able to _manage_ it."

Paris, Spring of 2003 

The sun had already set, but Montmatre was still bustling when Tara strode down the street. In many ways, living in Paris was still a novelty to her. In Sunnydale, walking down the street alone after dark was tantamount to suicide, but here…. Tara shook her head, there were still dangers in Paris, things that lurked in the shadows, but it was paradise compared to what went on in Sunnydale.

Hurriedly, she turned the corner, and eyed the long flight of steps that led up into the artist's quarter. She had promised to meet Joe at a small blues bar on the square. Apparently they had a new jazz pianist he was hoping to steal. Joe was quite ruthless when it came to music.

The hairs on Tara's neck rose, and she stopped short, peering into the shadows. Until now, the Bringers hadn't attacked her in public, but maybe their lack of success had forced them to change tactics.

Tara eyes wandered to the carousel at the foot of the steps; it only ran during daylight hours this early in the year, but she was sure she saw something moving…

A creak made her jump, and suddenly Tara could make out an outline sitting on one of the carousel horses. "I've been looking for you, my pet."

Tara reached for her sword before she knew what she was doing. "Drusilla!"

"Now, now," Drusilla murmured, stroking the wooden horse's head. "We're amongst mortals, now. No need to show me your pretty, sharp knife."

Tara tried to swallow as she took a step back. She was right; there was too much traffic on the steps for Tara to produce her sword without comment. But Drusilla wasn't under any such compunction. "What… what do you want?" Tara asked, cursing herself for stammering. The last thing she needed to show right now was nervousness.

"Just wanted to pick up our conversation where we left it, sweetie," Drusilla murmured. "I've been having dreams again, dreams of you and my Spike. Can't be, shouldn't be, but it _is_. There is a darkness coming, my pretty, and a hunger that devours."

"The Bringers, it's you isn't it?" Tara asked.

Drusilla grimaced. "She wears my face, you know; told him all sorts of pretty things. But he didn't listen, so now he's going to die… burn up in the fire…but he won't be gone….I…I've been having dreams," she trailed off, uncertainly.

Tara hardened her heart; she seemed so lost, but she could never forget what she was. She knew a bit about Drusilla's history, knew that even before her first death she had the gift of foretelling. But the power had driven her mad when she was turned. "What have you seen?"

"I've seen the end…and beyond the end," Drusilla murmured, jumping from her seat. "I've seen evil rise and cover the earth…and evil struck down, forced to burrow down beneath. It's a crossroads, my sweet."

"So…what?" I'm supposed to stop this? Is that why you're trying to kill me?"

Drusilla giggled. "Oh, my sweet, delicious thing, if I wanted you under the earth…_well_." Her face transformed, and Tara took another involuntary step back, causing Drusilla to laugh. "Do not worry, my little immortal, that isn't why I'm here."

Tara felt her temper rise. "So why _are_ you here? Did you just come here to taunt me? I don't care how many Bringers—"

"Oh, those are not _mine_, my pet," Drusilla interrupted. "They were sent by _her."_

"Her?" Tara repeated. "I don't understand."

"You're not meant to, little one," Drusilla said, as she approached her. "She doesn't have a name, she came before words."

Tara blinked. "Glory? Are you talking about Glory?"

Drusilla shook her head. "You're not thinking big enough," Drusilla said, almost sounding lucid. "But that doesn't matter; it doesn't concern you for now. The approaching battle is not your fight."

"I don't understand, if I'm not supposed to fight, why are the Bringers after me?" Tara asked, puzzled.

She reads the stars," Drusilla sang, twirling as she stretched out her hands. "The crossroads bleed across the sky and she trembles. The earth is trying to claw her back and she snarls at it's intent… so she plans, and she plots, and she sees another future where she can win yet again." Suddenly, Drusilla froze to the spot, her face contorting with grief. "My William, she's going to eat him all up. He's been a bad boy, playing with the slayer, but… he's my William."

Tara shook her head, not understanding. What had Spike to do with anything? "I need more," she said. "You have to tell me what I'm supposed to do."

Drusilla smiled sadly. "They are rules," she said, softly. "Even for me, my pretty."

"But you have to give me something!" Tara protested. "Should I go back to Sunnydale, is that what I'm supposed to do?"

"No, no Sunnyhell," Drusilla shook her head emphatically. "You must not go there, or it will swallow you up"

Tara sighed. "I don't understand."

"You'll see the sign," Drusilla told her, tilting her head. "Find the slayer when you see the sign...oh, and another thing… I'm _hungry_!"

Hands that crushed like a vice suddenly pinned her arms to her side, and Tara wriggled helplessly as Drusilla pulled her onto the carousel. "Don't worry, my sweet," she murmured. "I'll hide your body; you'll be safe until you wake up…I've never tasted Immortal blood before."

Fangs pierced her neck, and Tara let out a cry, even as she lost consciousness…

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

Impatiently, Methos checked his watch as he paced the roof. The sun had gone down over an hour ago, and there still wasn't any sign of DeLongi. Where the bloody hell was he? Had he decided against the challenge? Methos grimaced; from the little he knew of the man, it seemed unlikely. He just hoped DeLongi wasn't busy creating a nasty surprise for him.

A quickening suddenly pulsed the air, and Methos stood still. He had convinced Tara and Amanda to stay by Willow's side, several floors before, which meant DeLongi was the only candidate left. "You're late," he called out.

"I had a few things to take care of first," Arturo said, stepping out of the shadows.

Methos drew his sword as Arturo reached beneath his coat. "What I can't understand is why you're so eager to take my head. Aren't you ---what do they call it nowadays… _dating _a slayer? Surely, you're still not pining over Amanda."

Arturo smiled grimly. "I think we both know this is not abut the state of my heart, Mr Pierson. I had hoped to reach Amanda before she contacted you. It was too much of a coincidence that she decided to visit LA just a day after you and your student arrived, and I couldn't risk the fact she might spill the beans and blow my cover with Buffy's associates."

Methos smiled. "What makes you think that your cover isn't already blown?"

"Please, don't insult my intelligence; we both know that Miss Rosenberg doesn't trust you - while _I,_ one the other hand, have spent the best part of a year building up her trust and friendship."

"I think you may be leaving out one minor detail," Methos drawled. "Willow may not trust me, but _Tara _is another thing."

"Oh, didn't you know? Tara is a poor, misguided young lady, drawn off the good path by her unscrupulous mentor…it took quite some effort to plant the seeds of doubt in Miss Rosenberg's mind, while making them appear to be her own."

For a moment, Methos felt a flicker of doubt. Could Arturo be right? Was it possible that Willow was just humouring Tara, and all the time hoping that Arturo would win the challenge? Methos frowned, the anger in her eyes at the diner had seemed genuine; but he had been wrong before. "Why?" he asked, abruptly, suddenly realising what had been niggling at the back of his mind all along. "Why are you doing this? What have you got to gain from being at the Slayer's side?"

Arturo shrugged. "Maybe I just fell for her charms."

"Oh _please_, now it is _you_ who is insulting _my _intelligence," Methos snapped. "If you were so enamoured with her, we wouldn't be up here. You'd be too busy trying to track her whereabouts… or do you already know where she is?" Suddenly, it fell into place. "That's it, isn't it? Somehow, you're _involved_ in all this."

"Enough, time to fight!" he said, rushing forward.

Methos brought up his blade, allowing Arturo's sword to slide off it before stepping back. Arturo's eyes narrowed as he struck again, trying to get through Methos's guard. Patiently, Methos waited for his opening, ignoring the shockwaves that travelled down his arm as he parried the attack. "I'm afraid you'll have to try something with a little more flair, Arturo," Methos drawled, as Arturo circled him warily. "Your swordsmanship is distinctly lacking."

"I'll show you lacking," DeLongi snarled, raising his sword up. "_Exusteus Immortalus!"_

Seeing his opening, Methos darted under his guard and sliced into his waist; ducking to his side as Arturo faltered.

"What happened?" Arturo asked, hoarsely, clutching at his waist as he fell to his knees. "You shouldn't have been…I should have…."

Methos smirked. "Guess you underestimated Willow's ability to think for herself." _And so did I, thank the gods,_ he added mentally.

Arturo's eyes widened. "But that's impossible, I'm _protected_."

Methos shrugged as he raised his sword to take the kill. "Guess it wasn't good enough."

"No, no, _wait,_ you can't kill me. I…I…I have the _light of R'Nathnor._ If you kill me, you'll never find it."

"And I would care because?"

"She'll never forgive you; they're her friends, she'll never forgive…" Methos slowly lowered his sword, and watched ruefully as DeLongi passed out. Damn it, when did things get so complicated….

**TBC**

**P.S. And it took me twelve chapters to get to the point where the plot actually begins to make sense…but hey, better late than never : -P**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

Tara looked around the table as a grim silence fell on the group once Willow stopped speaking. It had taken until morning to get everyone from the old gang as well as Angel's crew gathered in the same room. Faith had been on Patrol, and Wesley had to extricate himself from some demonic clan meeting where he'd been haggling for information

But Willow had insisted that everybody needed to know and so they waited. _At least it had given me a few hours to catch some sleep, _Tara thought.

"So, Arturo has the light of R'Nathnor," Giles eventually murmured as he cleaned his glasses. "I suppose it's too muck to ask for Buffy to actually date someone who _wasn't_ trying to take over the world."

"Well. There _was_ Riley," Xander offered, grabbling a doughnut from the plate. "Although, there was the whole blood sucking problem, which kind of put a dampener on things."

Tara sighed; the events of the night before had still left her a little stunned. She had known Arturo was bad news, but she'd never guessed it was on such a grand scale. "At least we now know who has it, which is good news, I suppose."

"But he's not talking," Fred pointed out, worriedly. "And we've only got two days left."

Xander grinned. "Hey, we can always set Adam on him again, he seemed very willing to talk last night."

"I doubt it would work," Adam said, dryly. "Arturo knows very well that his possession of this…_artefact_ is the only reason he's still alive. It's his only bargaining chip and I don't think he'll give it up easily."

"Oh, _I_ don't know, give me five minutes with him and I might be able to wring something out of him," Faith drawled

"What_ I _want to know is what the hell he did to Buffy," Spike said.

"_And_ Angel," added Fred.

Spike grunted. "The poof can take care of himself."

Wesley rolled his eyes. "Yes, I think we all know your feelings on the subject, Spike."

"How long will the binding spell last, Willow?" Giles asked, leaning forward in his seat.

"At least another couple of days," Willow said. "And by then it really won't matter, will it?"

"We need to get Buffy back," Dawn said. "Whatever is going to happen involves her and if she's not here—"

"Then it doesn't matter whether we have the light of R'Nathnor, we're doomed anyway," Xander finished for her.

"Maybe we can get him to spill the beans her whereabouts, at least," Willow suggested.

"Sounds like a plan," Faith said, nodding. "How about we pay a little visit to his holding cell?"

Fred frowned doubtfully. "Perhaps we should think this through first?" she asked. "I don't know about you, but I'd love to figure out what the rest of that prophecy meant."

Xander groaned. "Did I ever mention that I really hate those things? And, lets face it, they never really _help_; they're is always something a bit off abut them, and we usually end up changing them anyway." Tara smothered a smile; trust Xander to get to the crux of the matter.

"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but what prophecy are we talking about?" Amanda interjected smoothly. Tara watched as Giles and Wesley exchanged a glance and caught Giles's almost imperceptible nod.

"I'll read it out, shall I?" Wesley murmured, as he pulled a sheaf of paper from his folder and he recited the verses.

Amanda threw Adam a cryptic look when Wesley finished. "Interesting," she said.

"Isn't it?" Adam said, flatly. Puzzled at the sudden tension in their voices, Tara looked at them, why did she get the feeling she was missing something? "Later," Adam muttered under his breath, seeing the question in her eyes.

Tara nodded unsurely; sometimes Adam seemed so full of secrets, she didn't know where the lies ended and the truth began. It was an aspect of his personality that she'd learned to accept, but it still worried her on occasion.

"What I can't understand is why we're supposed to fear the Jewel of Al'keron, "Spike muttered. "I know it didn't do much for _me,_ but it did close the Hellmouth, didn't it?"

Wesley stared at him," I don't believe I'm saying this," he said slowly. "But you may have a point."

Amanda suddenly leaned forward in her seat. "May I have a look at it?" she asked, smiling sweetly. "I might be able to help; I've had a _lot _of experience with jewels."

"_Amanda_," Adam said, warningly.

Amanda ignored him as she used the full weight of her charm on Wesley. "Just a look," she pleaded winningly.

"Well… I don't know," Wesley said. "Perhaps it would be better if—"

"Let her see it," Tara said, ignoring the dirty look Adam threw at her. "I have a feeling it might important."

"Tara?" Willow asked, doubtfully.

Tara looked at her, and smiled reassuringly. "Willow, I think she should examine it," she said, thinking of the expression in Adam's eyes. Her teacher was holding out on her, perhaps Amanda could make him talk

Willow took a deep breath. "Okay, I trust you," she said, eventually.

"I don't believe this," Adam muttered. "Amanda, don't be stupid. It probably isn't in the least bit related."

Amanda smiled. "Let's find out shall we?"

Wesley slipped a heavily jewelled pendant out of an envelope and Tara leaned forward to have a better look. So this was the amulet that closed the Hellmouth? She shook her head in amazement; it looked like a piece of cheap costume jewellery.

"May I hold it?" Amanda asked softly, holding out her hand. Wesley gave her a measuring stare before dropping the piece into her palm. "Curious," she murmured. "The diamonds alone are worth a small fortune, but I don't recognise the stone they've used as a centre piece."

"They're not looking for a price appraisal, Amanda," Adam sniped. "There's nothing you can tell them that would be of any use."

"I do believe you're right, _Adam_," Amanda drawled. "Perhaps you could do better. Here, _catch!"_ Lightening fast, she tossed it at him, and Adam automatically snatched it from the air, his fingers curling around the edges as the room suddenly flooded with a blinding light.

"I better live to regret this, Amanda," he said softly as the light curled around him

Shocked, Amanda leapt out of her seat. "Adam, I—"

But it was too late; he was already gone.

"What happened? What did you do?" Tara demanded, rounding on Amanda.

Amanda slumped back into her chair, fear flashing in her eyes. "I'm not sure, but I _think_ I may have fulfilled a prophecy," she whispered.

**Athens, 468 BCE**

The familiar shiver of an Immortal's presence stopped him in his tracks and Methos' eyes flashed around the sun-bleached square as he tried to pinpoint the direction. He had not felt the presence of another Immortal in nearly two years, and he did not wish to repeat that experience; it had not ended well.

A hand fell on Methos' arm and, startled, he looked at his companion. "Methodios, are you alright?" his friend asked, concern showing in his eyes.

"I am fine, Akakios, just a shiver. I think I may still be feeling the effects of last night."

Akakios snorted. "There is a first time for everything, I suppose," he said dryly. "I swear, I have never seen you suffer the effects of overindulgence. You must have the constitution of a horse."

"Be as that may, I think it might be best if I retire for the evening," Methos muttered.

"And miss the new orator speak? Well, this _is_ a surprise, you never turn down a good debate."

Methos hesitated; Akakios was right, he had found a special joy in hearing the Athenians discuss matters of life…and the new orator, Sophocles, was supposed to be especially insightful.

But it was too soon; he was not ready to meet another of his kind yet. Too much of the horseman still clung to his soul. Methos sighed and shook his head. "My apologies, Akakios, I'm afraid I cannot join you tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, eh?"

Doubt showed in Akakios' eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine, Akakios, just a little tired," Methos reassured him. "I shall see you tomorrow?" Smiling, he clapped Akakios' on the back before he left, feeling his friend's thoughtful stare as he retreated. He knew Akakios didn't believe his flimsy excuse but what was he to say… the truth?

Well, you see, Akakios, the man you've invited into your home and made welcome amongst your friends is in reality a cold-blooded killer who slaughtered thousands for millennia. But don't worry; I'm a reformed man….most of the time. Methos grimaced as he ducked down a side lane and made a beeline for the nearest temple. It had been nearly fifty years since he's deserted Kronos' unconscious body on that dirt track, but it still felt like yesterday.

He wondered how long Kronos had waited for his return before he realised that he wasn't coming back; a day, two days, or perhaps he knew instantaneously? Methos suspected that Kronos had noticed the dimming of anger in his eyes; it more than explained his sudden interest in Cassandra, the straw that broke the camel's back.

Cassandra…he hadn't thought of her in months. He hoped she still lived, that Kronos hadn't hunted her down. It seemed right that she should survive…survive him.

The anger was still there of course, the thirst for blood and power still sung through his veins, but it was not as blinding as it had been, not as consuming, and Methos was glad of it. He had spent too long in the darkness; it was time to enjoy the light again in what little way he could.

The brightly coloured temple of Athena glistened in the distance and Methos hastened his step. He did not want to suffer a challenge at the moment, he was not sure he would survive it. Oh, he would win, of course, he always did…but the quickening held dangers for him he'd rather not face. He had enough demons to deal with.

He had barely gained the steps when the other immortal's presence caught up with him and, slowly, Methos turned, already knowing who it would be.

"Something told me this is where you'd be heading to, brother," Kronos drawled as he placed a foot on the bottom step of the temple.

"I'm surprised you didn't try to head me off," Methos said quietly.

Kronos shrugged as he climbed the steps. "Perhaps it is better if we meet like this," he said. "With Athena, goddess of war, looking over us."

"I'm not going back, it's over."

Kronos smiled mirthlessly. "Didn't you know, brother, it's _never_ over," he stated. "You are what you are, you cannot change that. You are Death, and you belong at War's side."

"I think you're beginning to believe too much in your own speeches, Kronos," Methos said dryly. "Our lives are not fated, there is no destiny intertwining us; just blood, and fear, and death."

"And _glory,_" added Kronos heatedly. "Do you not remember, Methos, that promise we made when we first met?"

Methos closed his eyes against the look in Kronos' eyes. "That was a long time ago, Kronos. Things change, _people _change."

"But we're not people, Methos," Kronos said, his hand falling on Methos' shoulder. "We're the monsters in the night, and no matter what you tell yourself, no matter how much you bury your true nature under words and years_, that_ will not change."

"I'm _not going back_" Methos said, knocking his hand away.

For a moment, a murderous rage showed in Kronos's eyes, and Methos was sure that this would be the moment; that Kronos would challenge him and it would all end…one way or another.

But, somehow, Kronos reined it in, shuddering at the effort "Think on it, brother," he said. "Remember who you are. You cannot keep this charade up forever. Find me when you're ready."

Methos watched silently as Kronos descended the steps, his eyes never leaving the other Immortal's back as he strutted though the Athenian crowd. _I'm never going back, **never…**_

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

_Betwixt the light and dark,_

_A warrior alone shall stand;_

_Death shall ride his heels,_

_And glory shall lie in his hand._

The words echoed through Methos' head as the light swallowed him. From the moment Giles had read the prophecy aloud in the library he had hoped he'd misunderstood it… but he guessed he didn't deserve hope.

"_At last you see, brother."_

Methos felt something curdle within him. "You're dead."

"_But not dead enough."_

Methos blinked as the light changed, becoming the harsh yellow sun of a desert. He looked down at his clothing, the dirty white cloth and leathers felt exactly as they did all those millenia ago. Hastily, he wiped at his face, his heart jumpimg as blue waud came away on his hands. This could _not_ be happening…

"_But it is. Turn around, brother."_

Slowly, Methos turned around and looked at the apparition…because that's what it had to be, this wasn't _real._

Kronos grinned gleefully. "Welcome back, Methos."

You are an illusion," Methos spat out. "Kronos is dead."

And so are you, welcome to the afterlife, where everybody gets what they deserve," Kronos said with a laugh. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

For a moment, doubt swelled withing Methos, but he hastily brushed it aside. He had never believed a word that came out of Kronos' mouth when he was alive, he wasn't about to start now. "I never liked these games," he said. "If you were Kronos, you'd know that."

"Correction, you never liked these games unless you were the one pulling the strings. _That_ I remember quite clearly. Good work with the Highlander, by the way, you played him like a string on a fiddle."

"It wasn't—" Methos shook his head. "What am I doing?" he muttered. "I can't believe I'm giving you the time of day. Do you think I'm a complete idiot? I know what you are; you're all they bloody talked about."

"They?" Kronos echoed. "Do you mean your student and her little scooby friends? They can't help you, I'm afraid; the only one that can help you is yourself…with the aide of _that_, of course."

Methos's eyes narrowed as the amulet suddenly shimmered into being in his hands. "My, my, you're very helpful all of a sudden," he drawled.

"Tut, tut, so much suspicion," Kronos sighed. "Can I not help an old compatriot out? I know we didn't part too well, but—"

"Stop it," Methos said lowly. "I'm not buying it, so don't bother."

"It was worth a try," Kronos said, shrugging. "Perhaps another form would please you more…" The figure morphed, and Methos felt his heart thud in his chest as Alexa's eyes suddenly smiled at him. "Is this better?" she asked, her voice husky as she took a step forward. "You still miss her, don't you? Those nights in Greece when she was still well enough to laugh without pain? She had such a gentle spirit, such a zest for life. If you had taken the stone when you could have, killed Amanda when she discovered you, she'd still be alive now…"

"Change back," Methos said hoarsely. "Change back _now_."

"Don't worry, Adam, you can leave now. All you need to do is put it on, and this will all be over. Go home, my love, it isn't time for you to die."

The urge to so what she said was almost too much to bear, to see her face after all these years… _Gods_, she was so beautiful. "You're not _her_," he ground out.

The apparition stopped in its tracks, its eyes suddenly becoming cold and alien. "Put it _on."_

"Why?" he said angrily. "Why are you so _keen_ for me to wear it. I somehow doubt your concerned for my health."

"Because they're _mine_," she hissed. "And you can't have them."

"What—" Suddenly, it struck him. "They're here, aren't they, the Slayer and her friends?" he asked, his voice becoming firm. "Somehow, you've trapped them inside this illusion."

"You were always too bright for your own good," the apparition snarled as it slowly faded. "Not that it'll do you much good. Find them….if you _can_."

Methos swallowed, trying to erase the dryness in his throat as he scanned the arid horizon. "I'll never tease the Highlander about seeing dead people ever again," he muttered disgustedly under his breath.

**TBC**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

Tara stared at Amanda's distraught face as she tried to make sense of it. "I don't understand," she eventually said. "What has Adam got to do with the prophecy, what's _happened_ to him?"

"I don't know, darling," Amanda said wearily. "I wish I did."

"What do you mean you don't know? You _must_ know. You gave him the amulet. You practically _threw_ it at him, for goddess' sake! What aren't you telling me, Amanda?"

"Tara, honey, calm down; you're shouting," Willow said worriedly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Calm down?" Tara said. "You don't get it, do you? This is my fault. I was the one who convinced him to come here. I'm the reason he stayed, and _I'm_ the person who said you should show the amulet to Amanda and I…I…" Tara slumped back into her chair. "It's all my fault, I should never have come here."

"No," Willow said lowly. "Don't ever say that. Don't you know how much I missed you, how much I hurt when I thought you died. Don't ever say that coming back was a mistake. If anything, the only mistake you made was leaving in the first place!"

Wesley coughed uncomfortably. "Perhaps Amanda could shed some light on the matter by telling us why she was so keen to examine the amulet in the first place?" he suggested.

Amanda shifted in her chair. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

Tara felt Willow squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Why not?"

"Because I promised him I wouldn't," Amanda admitted. "He told me in confidence."

"Who? Adam?" Tara asked, surprised. Amanda nodded. "Amanda, you've got to tell us what he told you,. Surely it doesn't matter now, his life is in danger."

"I'm sorry, Tara, but I can't," Amanda sighed. "It _does_ matter to him, you see, and I can't betray that."

"But surely it can't be that bad?" Tara snorted. "I mean, I already know about Cassandra, how much worse can it be?"

Amanda winced. "You've got to understand, darling, that Adam…Adam has been around for some time, and he's made some choices he shouldn't have; things he'd rather forget.

"Of _course_," Giles said suddenly, grabbing the sheet the prophecy was written on. Why didn't I see it before? Damn it, I've been so _blind_."

"Why don't let us in on your little epiphany, Giles," Faith drawled. "Coz, I gotta admit, I'm still crawling around in the dark here."

"That makes two of us," Xander added.

Giles frowned. "I'm afraid I find myself in the same position as Amanda," he said. "Although I now realise he didn't tell me _everything; _all things considered, I suppose I can understand. It's not exactly something you advertise on your résumé."

"How much did he tell you?" Amanda asked, curiosity blatantly showing in her voice.

Enough for me to understand why the prophecy relates to him," Giles said. "I just didn't get the connection before because I was under the impression they were all dead…we had certain reports out of Bordeaux, a few years back, that indicated this?"

Amanda made a wry face. "You were three quarters right," she said.

"_Ah."_

"Ah?" echoed Tara, folding her arms as Amanda and Giles shared a look. "Would someone care to fill me in?"

"I think Amanda is right, Tara," Giles said. "It's perhaps best if Adam tells you himself."

"Well that might be little difficult, Giles," Tara said heatedly. "In case you haven't noticed, he's just been swallowed by an amulet!"

"Nevertheless, I promised Adam that I would keep what he told me in confidence."

Tara glared at him. "And what about the prophecy, are we going to ignore it just because you've decided that keeping you word to Adam is too important?" She rounded on Amanda. "And what about _you_?" she demanded. "Are you just going to sit there and do nothing?"

"Tara, even if we told you why Adam is important to the prophecy, it still wouldn't change anything," Giles interrupted. "Adam's survival is totally in his hands, we cannot help him."

"What's_ that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means we should concentrate on that which we _can _change, Tara," he said softly. "Rather than worry about what we cannot."

"Amanda," Tara said tersely. "Please tell me you don't agree with him?"

Amanda sighed. "I'm no expert on this kind of thing, Tara," she said. "But I do know Adam; and there is one thing you can be sure of, he's the consummate survivor. If there is a way he can save himself, you can be certain he will find it."

"But—"

"Yo, Tara," Faith broke in. "I appreciate you're worried about the guy, but if Giles says there's nothing we can do for him, then I believe him. The Watcher is rarely wrong about this kinda thing."

"She's right, Tara," Willow murmured as Tara opened her mouth to protest.

"Right, that's settled," Faith said, getting to her feet. "We let Adam take care of himself, and deal with we've got in hand. I don't know about you guys, but I'm itching to have a little chat with Arturo."

"I'll go with you," Tara said, hastily getting to her feet.

Faith eyed her dubiously. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea. You're a little bit…annoyed at the moment."

" Don't worry, I promise not to chop his head off," Tara said dryly. "I want answers as much as you do."

"I'll take you're word for it" Faith said, grinning. "Come on, let's go and scare the living daylights out of this guy."

**Paris, Spring of 2003**

Methos cursed under his breath as he felt the approaching presence of another immortal. He'd just got off the phone with Tara, and he knew Amanda was in London so, chances were, he'd stumbled across trouble.

He studied the crowd warily, trying to pick the immortal out as he hastened down the street. If he was lucky, he might be able to give them the slip. He swiftly turned the corner and grimaced as he realised that the other Immortal was still within range; it wasn't a coincidence, he was being followed.

"Damn it, as if I don't have enough on my plate," he muttered, as he went through his options. Should he stand and fight? Now that would _really _ruin his day. He had become less and less fond of quickenings as the years went on, and cleaning up afterwards held even less appeal. The local gendarmes tended to get all hot under the collar when they started finding headless bodies in the alleys.

"Holy ground then," he thought, as he looked around and tried to remember where the nearest church was. A spire caught his eye, and he headed for it, ignoring the curious glances he got as he plunged through the throng.

The church came into view, and Methos breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted the churchyard. He never liked being stuck inside the four walls of a church. Too many chances someone would overhear something they shouldn't.

He stepped inside the wall and felt the tension go out of him as the familiar comfort of holy ground settled on him and he strolled over to a bench and waited. Whoever the Immortal was, they were still in the vicinity, which meant they probably wanted to chat. "_As long as it doesn't involve a time and place_," he thought grimly. "_I'm really not in the mood."_

A figure stepped onto the path, and Methos did a double take as he realised who it was. "Cassandra," he said, getting to his feet.

"Methos," she said flatly. "Relax, I'm not after your head. Your word might not be worth much, but mine is."

Methos winced at the memory. "I see."

"We need to talk," she said, sitting on the bench stiffly.

"I thought we didn't have anything left to talk about," Methos said simply.

"This is not about Bordeaux," Cassandra said abruptly. "I'm here about your student."

Methos's eyes narrowed. "And why are you interested in _her_?"

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Worried about her safety, are we?" she asked dryly. "Well, that's good I suppose. Perhaps there was an element of truth in what Duncan said after all. " She sighed wearily as she studied his blank face. "Your student is safe from me, Methos; I prefer to deal with those who have transgressed against me in person. Using another as pawn is more _your_ style."

"I deserve that, I suppose," Methos drawled, relaxing. "So what is it you want to talk about?"

Cassandra shivered. "I've had a vision," she admitted. "She's in great danger, Methos."

"And what, you ran all the way here to tell me this?" asked Methos. "Forgive me, Cassandra, but somehow I can't make myself believe you're that concerned about my student."

Not everything is about _you_, Methos," Cassandra said sharply. "Sometimes the greater good has to be served."

"And what has the greater good to do with Tara, might I ask?" he said, folding his arms.

"Charming as ever, I see," she said dryly. "How long has she been your student now…eight, nine months?

"I see you've been keeping track of me."

Cassandra smirked. "I'm sure you've been repaying the compliment."

Methos shrugged, not bothering to deny it. "What has the amount of time I've had Tara as a student to do with anything?"

"For a man who has been around a considerable amount of time, you can be remarkably blind sometimes," Cassandra muttered. "I presume the attacks have already started?"

Methos' breath caught in his throat. "What do know about those?"

"They want her dead, Methos, and I suspect they want you dead too. It must not be allowed to happen."

"Isn't this the speech you usually give MacLeod?"

Cassandra's mouth fell into a thin line. "Fine, don't believe me," she said, rising to her feet. "But at least you can't say I didn't warn you."

"Wait, Cassandra," Methos caught himself before he grabbed her arm.. "Let's start this again, shall we? You were saying that Tara was in danger…?"

Cassandra shied back, obviously noticing the aborted move. "She needs to _survive,_ Methos," Cassandra said, not meeting his eyes. "And although I don't approve of the concept of you taking on a student, even I have to admit that surviving is something you do very well."

"What is it you're not telling me, Cassandra?" he asked, as he studied her shuttered expression

Her eyes caught his, and he could see the indecision in her eyes. "Tell me, Methos, do you believe in fate?"

"I think you already know the answer to that one," he said quietly.

"Yes, I suppose so," She shrugged. "Do yourself a favour, horseman, hold on tight to your disbelief. It might just save your life…and hers."

Silently, Methos watched her leave. Nearly three thousand years had passed, and the wounds had still not healed; for either of them. "_Get a grip, old man,"_ he thought grimly. "_This is not a time to become maudlin."_

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

"_Why is it that this illusion doesn't include a horse_," Methos thought discontentedly as he climbed. "_You'd have thought they would have gone for the full ensemble."_ He peered across the empty landscape behind him; the only forms of life he could see were a few bedraggled tufts of scrub hugging the hill. If Tara's friends were here then they were staying out of sight. "_And I'm not too sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing."_

He looked down at his clothing and flinched. Who ever this First Evil was, it knew only too well what buttons to push. It was disconcerting, to say the least, _"Don't think about it, concentrate on getting to the ridge."_

But it was hard to take his own advice, and his mind whirled as he scrambled upward. From what he remembered, they were nearly a dozen people captured here, including the vampiric Boy Scout and Willow's girlfriend.

Methos frowned; now _there_ was a complication. She hadn't seemed too happy with Tara's sudden comeback from the dead, not that he could blame her, he supposed. And then there was Willow; he didn't know what to make of her. One moment she was an insecure young woman, the next…well, his opinion didn't count, he supposed.

."I hope you know what you're doing, kid," he muttered under his breath, knowing as he said it that he was avoiding the point. Love didn't conquer all, it just discretely ignored reality, and Tara was just as much as a sucker for it as anyone else. Maybe even more so, he had a funny feeling that love didn't play a very big part in her life until Willow came along. Somebody was going to get hurt, he just hoped it wasn't going to be his student.

At last, he gained the ridge and he squinted against the sun to see what lay ahead. It didn't look good. Methos sighed, and wondered if it was possible to die of thirst in an illusion; death by dehydration wasn't pleasant.

A howl echoed in the distance and Methos tried to track the sound. Where there is life, there is sustenance. At least he hoped so; who knew how things worked here. On the upside, at least he hadn't had any more impromptu visits from the dead. _"Don't think about that."_

A low growl rumbled, and the hairs on the back of Methos's neck rose as he realised it had come from behind him. Slowly, he turned, reaching for the sword on his back and sliding it free. It felt strange to feel the coarse bindings of its hilt in his hand, he hadn't held this sword in a very long time and the weight felt heavy in his hand. He would have given anything for the reassuring steel of his Ivanhoe.

He readjusted to the weight of the bronze blade as he tried to pinpoint the growl and a movement caught the corner of his eye. He rolled on instinct, and the creature hurled through the air above him, landing lightly on its feet.

Methos slowly got to his feet, careful to keep the sword between him and his attacker as he tried to figure out what it was. It was built like a man, but had claws and a strange ridge formation covered its entire face, it's eyes looked vaguely feline but, despite the myths, cats don't look at their prey with quite the same hunger and intelligence as this creature did. It wasn't armed, but with claws like that, who needed a weapon? Nevertheless, Methos relaxed a bit. Claws would hurt, but they wouldn't kill him. Not permanently, anyway.

The creature snarled, and Methos's eyes narrowed, why wasn't it attacking? The sound of a dislodged rock came from behind him and suddenly Methos understood.

There was something behind him.

He dodged to the side, barely getting out of the way as it blurred past him and leapt at the creature. Methos watched in amazement as they fell to the ground in a heap, snarling at each other. Where the hell did _she _come from?

She was covered in paint and rags, her hair in ratty tails, but there was something vaguely familiar about her. Where had he seen that face before? He wracked his brains as he watched the fight unfold before him. They had both gained their feet and were now circling each other. He noted the sharpened piece of wood in her hand and creature's elongated fangs as it snarled; this would not be pretty. "_Think, man, thing, where have you seen that face before?"_

Suddenly he realised how he recognised the face, the photo that Tara kept in her pocket book…_Buffy? _He winced as the creature pinned her to the ground; slayer or no slayer, she was taking quite a beating.

"I don't believe I'm about to do this?" Methos muttered under his breath as he carefully moved behind the creature, hoping that it was too distracted to notice. He needn't have worried; the demon only had eyes for the slayer. He brought the hilt of the sword up and struck it across the head.

The creature slumped, and the slayer quickly threw him off her, reaching for the stake she'd dropped on the ground. Methos hastily stepped back, not wanting to get caught in the middle, but then stumbled as the creature's ridges fell away, revealing human features.

"_Angel? What the hell is going on here?"_

He didn't have time to think, as he noticed that the slayer didn't seem to care that the demons features had changed. Stake in hand, she went for the kill, and Methos threw himself at her, knocking her out of the way. _"I'm getting too old for this."_

The slayer snarled into his face and Methos resisted the urge to snarl back. He looked into her eyes and felt a moment of foreboding. Somehow, he didn't think Buffy Summers was at home.

Suddenly, he was flying through the air, and he grunted as he hit the ground, his sword flying from his hands. He had forgotten about the super strength, bad mistake.

"You interrupted my kill," she hissed, as she stalked towards him.

"So sorry about that. Believe me, it won't happen again," Methos muttered, as he glanced in the direction of his sword, which had fallen several feet away.

"No, it _won't_."

"_Oh dear, I don't like the sound of that_," he thought as he tried to think of something he could use as a weapon. Tara's friend, be damned; he wasn't going to suffer a stake through the heart for _anyone_.

But it was too late; the Slayer pounced on him and slammed him back into the ground. "You shall die," she told him flatly, laying her hand firmly on his chest.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Methos muttered, wincing as she raised the stake. Abruptly, the Slayer froze, her eyes widening as she clutched at his chest. Methos followed her eyes and suddenly realised what she'd found; the amulet.

And the bloody thing was glowing again.

"What…" the Slayer blinked, the menace leaking away from her eyes. "Who _are_ you?"

Methos laughed, relief flooding through him. "Buffy Summers, I presume?"

**TBC**


	15. Chapter 15

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

Willow tried not to dwell too much on the sudden, grim expression on Tara's face as she rose from the table. It drove home the changes that happened in the last year, and she wasn't sure how to deal with them. This was not the Tara she'd fallen in love with, the lover who'd died in her arms in a pool of blood on their bedroom floor. This Tara was older, harder.

And Goddess help her, she still loved her.

She had been trying to hold it together over the last few days, trying to stay strong. She, better than anyone, knew how strong emotions could cloud your head in a crisis. But there was so much a she could take, and she was reaching the end of her tether.

For the first time, she understood what Buffy must have gone through when Angel had been returned from the hell dimension. At the time, she'd not got understood why Buffy had kept Angel's reappearance to herself, and had eventually come to believe that Buffy hid him because she was afraid of their disapproval. Now she suspected she had barely scratched the surface of Buffy's turmoil.

And then there was Spike. She had always thought there was more to their relationship than Buffy admitted to but all her doubts were erased, yesterday, when she glimpsed the brief moment of devastation and hope on her face before it shut down into her usual calm, Slayer facade.

Willow sighed and Tara threw her a concerned glance. "Sorry, just thinking about Buffy and Spike," she murmured, ignoring Faith's snort.

"He still loves her," Tara offered softly, as they stepped out into the hallway.

"I think it's mutual; but you know Buffy, not big on the emotional sharing."

Tara smiled lopsidedly and Willow's heart gave a little leap. "They'll work it out…or rather, _he'll _work it out and drag her around to his point of view," she said, laughing. "I think that's why most of her relationships didn't work out. They were so used to following her lead, they never realised that sometimes she need someone else to show her the way."

Riley's face popped into Willow's mind, and she found herself nodding in agreement. "She's going to give him hell, you know, you didn't see the expression on her face when she realised how long he'd been back."

"Spike can handle it."

"Listen Guys, as much as I enjoy hearing about Bee's love life, we have another problem to deal with right now," Faith drawled, as the entered the elevator. "Besides, I think we all know it isn't Spike and Buffy you two are really talking about."

Willow's felt her cheeks heat up as Faith smirked at her knowingly. The dark haired Slayer was way too perceptive when she wanted to be, and very direct about making her opinion known. It was one of the traits she'd grown to like about Faith over the last year, but she also dreaded it. "Um, right," she muttered. "So, how do we approach this…bad cop, good cop?"

Faith grinned. "I've always liked playing the bad cop," she said. "I seem to have a real knack for it."

To Willow's surprise, Tara shook her head. "Better if I did it," she said. He'd see another immortal as more of a threat."

Faith threw her a speculative look. "You sure you can handle that?" she asked. "No offence, but you don't strike me as the scary type."

"I'm armed, and he isn't" Tara said simply. "I know that, technically, you're a better fighter than me but I'll be the only one in the room who could take his quickening…so yes, to him, I'm the bigger threat." She sighed. "I wish Adam was here," she muttered, "He's better at this kind of thing."

Willow snorted. "I'll bet he is," she said.

"Please, let's not do this again," Tara said. "I know you don't like him, but he's a friend and I owe him my life… several times over."

"He's dangerous—"

"So are _you_," Tara cut in. "But that never stopped me loving you, did it?" An awkward silence fell in the elevator, as both of them realised what Tara just said. "Sorry," Tara muttered self-consciously. "I didn't mean it to come out like that."

"No, you're right," Willow said flatly. "I suppose I deserved that."

"No, you didn't," Tara murmured, reaching for her hand. "I know how much you've struggled with it, I shouldn't have thrown it in your face."

Willow looked down as Tara's fingers slipped through hers and tried to blink back the tears that suddenly blurred her eyes. "How did we get to this place?" she asked softly.

"I-I don't know," Tara admitted softly.

The elevator doors opened, and Faith cleared her throat. "Time to kick some bad guy ass," she joked uncomfortably. "Come on, you can use some of the pent up sexual tension on him, it works wonders, trust me!"

_Kennedy,_ thought Willow, and immediately felt guilty for enjoying the feel of Tara's hand in hers. Was it always going to be like this? Was she always going to feel guilty for feeling so gloriously happy every time Tara stepped into the room? Kennedy had never made feel this way, so giddy and anxious, and so achingly in love. What was she going to do?

As if sensing her thoughts, Tara extricated her hand. "Come on," she said gently. "It's time we found out exactly what Arturo's hiding.

**Paris, Early Summer of 2003**

The television hummed lowly in the background, but Tara ignored it as she pecked at her laptop. It had been a week since she'd encountered Drusilla in Montmatre and, try as she might, she couldn't get it out of her head. It was all very well for the vampire to tell her that she had to wait for a sign, but something told her that Willow was in danger.

"_Bringers…Bringers…damn it, I knew I should have paid more attention to Willow's database passwords,"_ Tara thought grimly, as she skimmed through the search engine's results.

"Bringers!" Tara jumped guiltily in her chair as Adam stormed into the room, and quickly slapped down the screen of her laptop.

"What about them," she asked. "Oh goddess, not another attack?"

His eyes narrowed as he glared at her, as if picking her apart for lies. "No, but something tells me it won't be long before they'll make another appearance," he drawled slowly. "Tell me, what do you think?"

"Is that a trick question?" Tara prevaricated.

"You've definitely been spending to much time with Amanda," he snorted in disgusted. "That's probably the most circular answer you've ever given me."

Amanda wasn't the only Immortal Tara knew who was good at avoiding questions, but now probably wasn't the time for telling him a few home truths. "I don't know anything more about the Bringers than you do," she said, and technically that was true…technically.

"That's not what I heard," he told her grimly, throwing himself onto the couch. "In fact, I was told, in no uncertain terms, that you were the girl with all the answers."

Tara's guilt turned to concern as she saw the expression in his eyes. "You look like you've just seen a ghost," she observed.

"That would be one way of putting it," he muttered, before glaring at her once more. "Stop trying to evade the question!"

"I'm not!" she protested. "I really don't know who they are."

"But?" he prompted.

Tara sighed, giving in. "I saw Drusilla the other week," she admitted.

"The Vampire?" Adam said incredulously. "And you didn't tell me? What the hell were you thinking, Tara?"

"I didn't want to worry you," she murmured.

"You didn't want to—" he paused, and took a deep breath. "Let's try this again," he said, in an even voice. "What did Drusilla want with you?"

"She wanted to give me a warning," Tara said reluctantly. "_But,"_ she said, as Adam opened his mouth, "It wasn't anything we could use. Drusilla isn't really big with direct answers, she's more into stars and portents, and waiting for the 'sign'." Tara said, making quotations marks in the air,

"Funny you should say that," Adam said darkly

"What?" Tara asked. "What happened?"

"Let's just say I got a blast from my past, today," he sighed. "A seer, and an Immortal to boot; she seemed very concerned about your welfare." The sarcasm dripped off his words, and Tara shivered as she realised who he must be talking about.

"Cassandra," she said, before she could stop herself, and Adam threw her a sharp look.

"Where did you hear that name?" he demanded, getting to his feet. "She hasn't approached you, has she? _Has _she?"

Tara shook her head. "Her name came up in passing once," she said. "When I asked Joe about Immortal witches."

"And what did Joe say?" Adam asked, his eyes narrowing.

Tara swallowed nervously. "N-n-nothing much," she lied. "Just that she seemed to be able to spin illusions and had the ability to influence other people's actions with her voice."

Adam gave her a long look, then sighed. "Yeah, that pretty much sums her up," he said mockingly. "She also doesn't like me much, as Joe probably already told you, so avoid any strange brunette immortals you stumble across, in the near future. I don't think she'll try anything, but it never hurts to be careful."

Tara nodded numbly, as she studied her hands. "I'll avoid her," she promised softly as she wondered, nonetheless, what the Immortal witch was truly like.

"_Tara_," he said warningly. "I mean it, Tara, our lives are complicated enough as it is without throwing Cassandra into the mix."

Tara glanced up and froze as an image on the television screen caught her eye. "Where's the remote?" she said, jumping to her feet. "Quick, where is it?"

"Tara, what the he—"

"Ssh!" she said, waving him into silence as she grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned the television up.

"…_nobody is quite sure what happened yet, but rumours of an earthquake causing the disaster are already circulating_," the newscaster voice intoned solemnly over the aerial footage.

Tara felt her feet give under her, as the camera zoomed in on the yawning pit, her eyes flickering to the town's name on the bottom of the screen once more. _Oh, dear Goddess, no…._

"Tara." She felt a firm hand grab her shoulder and steer her to the couch. "You'd better sit down."

"_Nobody knows yet what the death toll is but the pit is over eight miles in width and the chances of surviving such a devastating upheaval is minimal at best…"_

The urge to giggle uncontrollably was almost overwhelming. Drusilla _had_ said she'd recognise the sign when she saw it. "Willow," she murmured, as she felt her eyes grow hot. "Oh, please goddess, not Willow."

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

The Slayer eyed Methos as if he was something that crawled out of the dark ages, which in a manner of speaking was correct, but it irritated him nonetheless.

"Who are you?" she asked grimly, the stake still clutched in her hand. "And how the hell did we get here? Was it you?"

"Why is it that everyone always assumes it's my fault?" he asked rhetorically.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe it's because one moment I'm in Los Angelus, and the next I'm in the middle of a desert, with only _you_ for company," she snarled. Hmm, it seemed that the Slayer's temper hadn't improved with the return of her memories.

"Actually, technically, that isn't true," he drawled, nodding at Angel's unconscious body. "I believe you're acquainted with him?"

Her eyes rounded as she jumped to her feet. "Angel!" she gasped, running to his side. "What did you _do_ to him?"

"What did _I _do to him?" Methos spluttered. "It was you who was trying her damnedest to drive a stake through his heart only a few moments ago!"

Startled, Buffy's face went thoughtful. "I wouldn't do that," she said, but he could hear the question in her voice.

"Probably not, no," he agreed reluctantly. "But you weren't exactly yourself at the time. I'm not exactly sure how this place works, but it seems to attach itself to the darker elements of a person's personality and bring it to the fore…in your case, I think it was the Slayer part of you that was in driving seat. You didn't seem to recognise him, all you saw was a vampire."

"And you?" she asked, suspicious. "Why did I attack you?"

"I interrupted your kill," he said reluctantly. "You didn't seem to like it."

"Oh," she said, her voice suddenly small. "Thank you, I guess."

"Any time," he drawled. "Or, rather, not. Tackling an angry slayer was definitely not one of my brightest ideas."

A twitch of a smile curled up the corner of her lips. "You still haven't told me who you are," she reminded him.

"Adam Pierson," Methos said dryly, as he slowly got to his feet.

"Oh!" Buffy's eyes brightened. "You're the guy who came with Tara; an Immortal, right? Have you met Arturo?"

"Yeah, about that…" Methos said, then halted as he saw Angel's hand twitch. "Um, I'd step back if I were you," he said, grabbing hastily at the amulet. "You're not the only one who wasn't feeling himself!"

"Hey, where did you get that?" Buffy demanded, stepping back nonetheless.

"Giles," he said briefly, figuring a lie was the best way to stop the questions. "Something about a prophecy." Well, _that_ part was true. "Best as I can make out, it negates the influence of this place. "Which is why you're Buffy again, and I'm not trying to swing a sword at you."

"Used to do a lot of that, did you?" Buffy asked.

"It was the thing to do," he said, shrugging, as he slowly approached the Vampire, the amulet extended before him.

"How does it work?" Buffy asked, curious.

"Well, touch seems to do it," he said grimly, resisting the urge to jump as Angel's body twitched again. "Although you're the only empirical evidence I've had of that."

"I bet you'd look good in tweed," she drawled. "You've already got the vocabulary and accent down pat."

"Huh?" Methos asked, momentarily nonplussed.

"You sound like a Watcher," she explained, grinning. "There's an opening, if you want one."

Methos laughed, despite himself. "Been there, done that, got the t-shirt," he said wryly. "It didn't fit."

"Bet'ya _that's _a story," she teased. "Care to tell—" Suddenly, Angel was on top of her, the ridges on his face springing into prominence as he snarled and pinned her to the ground. With a soundless grunt, she rolled him over. "Hey, I can't hold him all day, you know!" she called over her shoulder. "Make with the glowly amulet, already!"

Warily, Methos approached the snarling demon and pressed the amulet to his shoulder. Fascinated, he watched the ridges smoothly sink back into his skin.

"Buffy?" Angel croaked unsurely.

The Slayer smirked. "Welcome back," she said.

"I didn't realise I'd left," the vampire said dryly. "Um, Buffy, what are you wearing?"

"What?" she asked, then blushed furiously as she glanced down the tiny rags that covered her body. "Oh, right," she muttered, scrambling to her feet before she recovered herself. "Hey, you're one to talk, Mr Loin-cloth!"

_If it weren't for the fact a vampire can't blush,_ Methos thought with amusement as the vampire shifted uncomfortably, _I'd be looking at two red faces…kids!_

Angel suddenly glared at him as if sensing his thoughts. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Saving _your _ungrateful ass, apparently," Methos drawled.

"What is that you're wearing?" the vampire asked, ignoring the reproach in his reply.

"Leather and wool," Methos said brusquely as he picked up his sword. "All the rage, back in the day."

"And the_ bronze sword?" _Angel asked, his eyes homing in on the blade.

"Never you mind," Methos said flatly. "We've better things to worry about, like tracking down your friends and getting the hell out of dodge."

"You know, you never explained to me where we were," Buffy said thoughtfully.

"That's because I don't know," Methos said tersely. "I thought you'd have a better idea. I believe you've tangled with the First before?"

"The First," Buffy said, her face paling. "That's all I need…wait a minute, what did you mean by _tracking down our friends?"_

Methos sighed, this was turning out to be a really long day.

**TBC**


	16. Chapter 16

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

Four Slayers were already rounded up, and they'd even found Gunn…who, for some strange reason, had taken the form of a panther. From the expression on Angel's face, Methos deduced the vampire may know the reason why, and he didn't look too happy about it. Methos shook his head as he banished his curiosity from his mind, it wasn't his problem, and he needed to keep his head in the game. They still had two Slayers to go, and one of them was Kennedy, and she was one Slayer he intended to bring home in one piece. A dead Kennedy was worse than a live and jealous one…and he can't believe he'd just thought that.

He snorted at the unintended joke, and ignored Angel's pointed glare. Something told him the vampire wasn't in the mood for gallows humour, and he couldn't blame the guy. Methos narrowed his eyes as he peered up at the sun, it was beginning to dip towards the horizon and he gauged they had less than an hour of good light left. For Angel that wouldn't be a problem, he wasn't so sure about the Slayers. "What's a Slayer's night vision like?" he asked.

"Better than a human's but not as good as a Vamp's," Buffy said, understanding the question. "What about you?"

Methos shrugged. "Better than average," he said. "Although that might be down to experience, rather than physiology."

"Well, you sure move quietly, is that experience too?"

Methos's lips quirked, she was a hell of a lot sharper than she looked. He supposed she'd have to be, to survive this long. "I dare say," he said noncommittally.

"Not telling, huh?"

"Yeah, he's good at that," Angel muttered.

"Tell you what, I'll tell you some of my old war stories, and you tell me some of yours. What were _you_ up to a hundred years, or so, ago?" It was a low blow, and Methos knew it, but he was in no mood for fencing words. He needed to get out of here and back to Los Angeles as quickly as possible.

He had an uneasy feeling in his gut.

"I see something," one of the slayers murmured. "Up there, on the ridge."

Methos shaded his eyes and followed the Slayer's gaze. "Human," he murmured quietly. "And I don't think she's alone, she keeps looking over her shoulder."

"The other Slayer?" Buffy wondered aloud.

"Let's hope so," said another of the Slayers, who didn't look a day over thirteen. "My nose is beginning to peel."

"Yes, Elaine, we know," Buffy sighed. "This is the third time you've mentioned it." Frowning, she gazed at the ridge. "Listen, this is how we'll do it. Angel will be the bait, like last time; we all know that their Slayer instincts will wipe override their common sense once they get wind of him. Elaine, you, Susan and Gunn will take Katrina. I, Ivana and Ling will take Kennedy. Adam, once we've got them on the ground, you move in and do your glowy amulet thing. Got it?"

"Got it," echoed the other Slayers. A quick smile passed across Angel's face, which was gone the moment the Buffy turned to him. Maybe the Vampire's sense of humour hadn't completely dried up, after all.

"You ready for this," Buffy asked, a worried frown suddenly developing on her face. "Ling gave you quite a pounding before we got the amulet to work.

"I'll survive," he said dryly. "Besides, what can go wrong when I've got five Slayers watching my back?" He paused, and made a wry face. "I can't believe I just said that."

"Positively asking for it," Buffy agreed, with a small smile.

"And on that grim note," Methos muttered under his breath, as the vampire started loping up the hill. He unsheathed his sword, ignoring Buffy's disapproving look. His intention was to dissuade, not to maim, but he was still a little nervous after Elaine had nearly taken his head off with a branch when they'd caught up with her, earlier in the day.

He broke into an easy trot, not bothering to try and match the Slayer's speed as they ran up the hill after the vampire. Gunn tried his best too keep up with them, however. He idly wondered what it would be like to have that kind of speed and agility, but quickly dismissed the thought. All in all, he though he'd got the better deal. He lived longer, for one.

The two other slayers had now broken their cover and were hurtling towards Angel's position, totally ignoring the other four slayers. They probably thought they were going to join in on the hunt. He doubted _he _even pinged on their radar.

The one Buffy called Katrina went down first, in a tangle of limbs and muffled curses. The other slayers, and Gunn, were trying their best to restrain her with hurting her, but Katrina was having none of it. "Could you quicken up the pace, Man," Gunn panted. "I'm getting bruises on my bruises."

Methos smirked as he he used a last spurt of speed and reached in though the small pile of bodies weighing the slayer down. A quick gasp came from her Katrina's lips as reason returned to eyes. "What the…uh, guys, not that I don't appreciate the group hug and all, but could you get the _hell_ off me."

"With pleasure," Gunn huffed, as he scrambled to his feet, and the other Slayers giggled as Katrina's face reddened. Ah yes, young love.

"Where's Buffy?" Elaine suddenly asked.

Narrowing his eyes against the setting sun, Methos gestured at a small outcrop near the ridge. "It seems Kennedy is giving them a run for their money."

"We'd better catch up before Kennedy gets in a lucky shot," Gunn said worriedly.

"Uh, guys, sorry to break in here, but where the hell are we, and what am I _wearing?_" Katrina asked.

"We'll explain on the way," Elaine said, grabbing her arm.

Methos sighed as, once again, they sped up the hill. He was getting too old for this.

"_You are never too old for the hunt." _a mocking voice said, and Methos raised an eyebrow at the apparition that had suddenly appeared at his side.

"Ah yes, the encore," he said dryly, as he started to make his way up the hill. "A bit of advice, Kronos, you really should give up the amateur dramatics; it was never a good look for you."

_"You didn't really think we'd let you go without giving you one more chance to be on the winning side, did you?" _

Methos smirked. "Nice speech, don't let the Hellmouth hit you on the way down."

Kronos sighed. "_This isn't the right choice to make, my old friend. They're going to lose, no matter what they say, you'd be wiser to cut your losses and run." _

"You always _did _have a very vague acquaintance with the truth, didn't you?" Methos asked rhetorically.

"_What do you mean?"_

"I mean, what the hell are you doing traipsing around a bronze aged desert, chewing my ear off, if you're so certain you'll be the victor? No, my old_ friend, _I remember the smell of fear, and you're reeking of it." A sharp yell caught Methos's attention, and Methos smiled as he saw Buffy wave at him. "Well, it seems my ticket out of here has arrived. So long, Kronos, give my regards to Caspian."

Kronos laughed lowly as he called after him. "_It isn't over, Methos, our time is here and we shall win…oh, and give my regards to your student, she seems such a good little girl." _

**Paris, A week earlier**

Tara looked up at the departure times and tried to calm the drumming of her heart in her chest. It had been over two weeks since Sunnydale had fallen into the crater–no, fallen into the Hellmouth, there was no point in deceiving herself – and Willow's name still hadn't been added to the list of the survivors. There was no list of the dead; the crater was still too unstable for excavation.

She was still surprised at how easily Adam had caved when she begged to go back to California, it was so out of character, but who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth? She was going home, or as near to home as she could get.

She prayed that Willow was still alive.

She caught a glimpse of Adam from the corner of her eye, deep in conversation with Joe, who had driven them to airport. She had the distinct feeling that they were keeping something from her; but what it was, she didn't dare hazard a guess at. She only hoped that it wasn't something about Willow, as she knew from the expression on Adam's face that it wasn't good news. Shaking her head, Tara strolled on ahead to the departures lounge, her ticket and passport clutched in her hand. They'd catch up when they were ready.

The lounge was choked with people, some of them making themselves comfortable on the floor, and Tara made to join them until she noticed a row of seats that were empty except for the solitary woman who sat on the end chair. Frowning, Tara eyed the woman who sat gazing into the middle distance, her hands laid palm down on her lap. There was something about her that seemed familiar, yet she was sure they'd never met…

She took a step forward, and halted dead in her tracks as the familiar sensation of another immortal's presence washed over her. The woman looked up and captured her eyes, and Tara suddenly understood.

Cassandra.

She hesitated, unsure of what to do, and a small smile quirked the side of the elder immortal's lips, as if she knew what Tara was thinking.

_And she probably does, _Tara thought, grimly, as she lifted her chin. Carrying a sharp edged weapon into an airport, past security, was well nigh impossible nowadays; her own sword was already in the cargo hold.

Cautiously, she approached her, halting just out of arms reach. "May I sit?"

"But of course," Cassandra said huskily, patting the seat beside her. "I presume you know who I am?"

"Cassandra," Tara murmured as she sat. "Adam is here, you know."

"But he is still busy conversing with Joe," Cassandra said, with a slight smile. "So we have a few minutes…I must admit, you aren't what I was expecting."

Tara raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly were you expecting?" she asked dryly.

"Now that I think about it, I'm not really sure," Cassandra admitted with a small laugh. "Someone like Duncan, I suppose."

"The Highlander?" Tara asked, curious. She had never met Duncan MacLeod, but it seemed, at times, that everyone but her was on intimate terms with the man.

Cassandra smiled. "You two have not met yet," she said lightly. "But you will, if you survive the next few weeks."

"If?" Tara echoed.

"This is going to be a difficult time for you, Tara," Cassandra sighed. "And you may have to do a few things that go against your nature, but it has to be done. Cast aside your doubt, you're going to need to believe in yourself if you're going to survive this…and I'd like you to_ survive_ this; mind, body, _and _soul."

Tara felt a brief moment of irritation. "I don't suppose you know someone by the name of Drusilla, by any chance?" she asked archly. "You two have a lot in common."

Cassandra's lips twitched. "I don't mean to be obscure," she said. "But I find myself in a quandary. If I say too little, you will not have the information you need, if I say too much, I may alter the future too much and create an even worse one…so I will tell you this: when the time comes, follow your_ heart. _Do not trust your other senses-"

"Tara!"

Startled, Tara jumped in her seat, and quickly looked over her shoulder, wincing slightly as she saw glowering expression on Adam's face as he bore down on her. "Adam," she said as she got to her feet. "I can explain-"

"I don't want to hear it," he said sharply. "Let's go."

"But Cassand-"

"Is gone," he said harshly.

Puzzled, Tara glanced down at the seat beside, to discover he spoke the truth. "But I don't understand, how could she just disappear like that?"

"Witch, remember?" he said dryly. "Now, come on, you can tell me what she said to you when we've boarded the plane…word for exact _word. _

**Los Angeles, Summer of 2003**

Tara wasn't exactly sure what she'd been expecting Arturo to look like, when she looked at him through the one way mirror, but she hadn't been expecting the expression of smugness that was on his face as he half sat, half lay, on the cell's bed. "I've got a bad feeling about this," she murmured worriedly.

Crossing her arms, Faith sighed. "I gotta agree with you there," she admitted. "He kinda reminds of the way Angelus was, when he feeling particularly pleased with himself; all gloating and cat-with-cream. I'm expecting the anvil to drop any moment."

Willow shuddered. "Not a nice analogy."

"But an accurate one," Faith drawled, and Tara noted that Willow didn't disagree.

"It doesn't change the plan, though, does it," Tara said softly. "We still need the artifact."

"Although why, we don't know," Willow sighed.

The door opened softly behind them, and Tara's lips narrowed as Amanda walked into the room. She couldn't help but feel that the older immortal was partly responsible for their current predicament, even though she knew that Amanda hadn't intended to put Adam in harm's way.

"I thought I could help," Amanda said simply, returning Tara's look with a steady gaze. "I know him better than anyone else in this room, and I fooled him once. For a man like Arturo, that is an unsettling thought." Her gaze swept past them and through the glass. "And I definitely think we need to shake him out of his complacency," she added thoughtfully. "My, my, what is he thinking?"

"And that's the sixty four dollar question," Faith said.

DeLongi suddenly glanced up and grinned at the mirror, his right hand slowly drawing a line across his neck. Tara felt the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Did he really know they were there, or was it an educated guess based on him sensing her quickening?

"Okay, that's creepy," Willow said shakily.

"He's playing with us," Faith said grimly, as she strode to the door. "And I don't like being played with; time to change the rules."

"Just keep in mind we're working to a deadline here," Willow said, her voice suddenly stern.

"Trust me, I ain't ever going to forget it," Faith said over her shoulder as house left the room. "Just give me five minutes. I'd like to have a stab at softening him before you lot get to him."

Willow sighed as the door shut behind the slayer, and Tara reached over to squeeze her shoulder, giving her all the reassurance she could. "We'll get the information."

"I hope so," Willow said, as the cell door opened and Faith sauntered into the room. "We can't afford to fail."

"Hiya, Arty," Faith said cheerily as she grabbed a chair, swivelled it around, and straddled it, in one move. "Like the new digs. What's the room service like?"

A flash of irritation flittered through the Immortal's eyes, and Tara's lips quirked. "Arty?" she asked.

"Faith spent some downtime in Milan, during the spring," Willow explained. "Started calling him Arty on the first day, and kept on calling him that when she realised it annoyed him. Buffy was _not _amused"

"It probably upsets his sense of dignity," Amanda murmured. "And Arturo is nothing if not prideful."

"Aren't your friends going to join us?" Arturo's voice wafted though the speakers.

"Nah," Faith said, waving her hand dismissively. "They're givin' us some alone time, so we can catch up. Thoughtful of them, isn't it."

The immortal relaxed back into the bed and smiled. "Veiled threats aren't going to work with me, my dear," he said. "You'll have to be more inventive than that."

Faith sighed dramatically. "But here's the thing, Arty, my man," she said. "If you're not going to give it up, we don't have much use for you. All you are is a waste of space. So I see it this way, either you give us the location of the Light of Rat thingummy or…how did you put it?" Slowly, Faith pulled a finger across her throat, adding a few appropriate gurgling noises.

Arturo laughed throatily. "Oh, and who are going to have to do the deed? The young witch? We both know that Pierson is unavailable at the moment."

Tara's eyes narrowed. "How did he know that?"

"Search me," Willow said, puzzled. The only contact he's had, since we put him in here, is with his guards – and, before you ask: no, we didn't use Wolfram and Hart's security force, we've had slayers on him around the clock."

"He may have not used worldly means?" Amanda suggested.

"Not a chance," Willow said firmly. "I've got him locked down so tight, he couldn't even float a pencil, never mind contact someone, mind to mind."

"Maybe someone contacted_ him, _" Tara mused aloud.

"You mean, someone like the First?" Willow said, a note of worry creeping into her voice."

"It's possible, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's possible," Willow said softly, as Faith shuffled her chair closer to the bed, as if daring Arturo to try something.

"Arty, Arty," the Slayer singsonged. "You'll have to come up a better comeback than that, that was positively _limp."_

Arturo bristled and sat up abruptly. "Don't play little word games with me, little girl," he hissed. "You might find you have bitten off more than you can chew."

"Ooh, big words for an impotent little man locked up in a four by four cell!"

"Why you-"

It happened so fast, Tara wasn't sure who'd made the first move, but it was pretty obvious who had won. "You can come in now, guys," Faith said, as she nonchalantly kept Arturo's arms wrenched behind his back, his face pressed flat against the wall. "I've got him all softened up for you.

Tara wasn't positive, but she thought she could see a few flakes of plaster float down to the tiled floor.

"That was…impressive," Amanda said, arching an eyebrow.

"You should see Buffy when she gets annoyed," Willow said dryly. "Believe me, you don't ever want to get on her bad side."

Silently, Tara followed the others out of the observation room and wiped her palms nervously against her jeans as Willow opened the cell door. She couldn't help but remember the note of derision in Arturo's voice when he mentioned her, and she had to admit it rankled, for no other reason than it held more than an element of truth. When it came down to it, she wasn't sure she could take another life, even if that life belonged to someone as irredeemable as Arturo DeLongi.

A hand squeezed her arm reassuringly, and Tara looked up into Amanda's eyes. "Don't worry," she murmured. "Between the two of us, we've got this covered."

Tara heard the unspoken offer, and she was disgusted with herself when she realised how much she wanted Arturo to be Amanda's problem, not hers. She couldn't expect Amanda to lift take all the hard decisions out of her hands for the rest of her life…or Adam, come to think of it.

But Amanda had already stepped into the cell by the time Tara could formulate her thoughts into words, and Tara reluctantly stepped into the room behind her.

"Well, if it isn't my darling wife," Arturo said, with a sneer, when he spotted Amanda. "I thought you would have skittered back to Paris, to hide behind your beloved Highlander's skirts, by now."

"So nice to see you too, Arturo," Amanda said as she sat on the chair and elegantly crossed her legs.

"And the witches, too," Arturo said, with a sly laugh. "Should I feel honoured?"

Faith rolled her eyes, and hiked his arm up another inch, ignoring Arturo's cry of protest. "Play nice, Arty, or you'll be worried about a lot more than a broken arm…tell me, can immortals grow back body parts if they lose 'em?"

"Depends on how powerful the Immortal is, and how old they are," Amanda supplied calmly. "Arturo doesn't quite meet the requirements."

"And I suppose you do?" Arturo snarled. "You two faced little slu-ooph!"

"Language," Faith said, warningly, as Arturo's face was pressed further into the wall.

Amanda smiled knowingly. "You think you know me, Arturo," she said. "But in fact, you know little more than my name. When will it ever sink into your thick skull that our time together was nothing more than a charade? Rebecca wanted her property back, and I was the one she picked to do it."

"Such a dutiful student," Arturo sneered. "You can't tell me you fell for her 'I can see something better in you' speech. You're just like me, Amanda, out for anything you can get."

"As I said," Amanda said coolly. "You never really knew me at all."

"You're a liar and a thief!"

"But I'm not a cold blooded killer, Arturo, and I've never taken a head for the pleasure of it."

"Is that your way of saying that you're going to take mine?"

"If needs be."

"Try it, bi- ahhh!"

"Arty, Arty, what did I say about language?"

"Enough," Willow said softly. "Time to go to plan B."

Plan B? Tara gave her puzzled glance and Willow threw back a tight smile. With a sinking heart, Tara suddenly knew what she had planned. "Willow, no, it's too dangerous."

"I don't have a choice, honey," Willow said quietly. "We need the information, and if he isn't prepared to give it to us, then I'll have to take it from him-"

"Uh, guys," Faith said, her voice suddenly tense. "I'm getting that tingly feeling, something's up."

"What do you mean?" Willow asked, with a worried frown.

"Can't put a finger on it, but my Slayer Spidey senses are going haywire. There's something here, and it's_ big_."

A low chuckle came from Arturo's lips, and Tara felt a shiver crawl down her spine as she realise it wasn't his voice anymore. "Took you long enough," he said coldly, as his eyes turned black and empty.

"The First," Willow said flatly.

"Damn it," Faith said hollowly, "I _knew _I should have grabbed the scythe from the suite.

With a wrench of his shoulder, Arturo twisted around and grabbed her by the throat. "Yes, you really should have," he agreed.

In a flash, Amanda was on her feet, her sword in her hand, and Tara followed suit, holding her ground as Amanda circled to the other side of Arturo. By now, Faith was beginning to lose consciousness, and Tara felt her throat tighten. She had to do something; she couldn't just let Faith die just because she wasn't sure-

"_Augustus exustios! _"

A crackle ran through the air, and, suddenly, Faith was flying across the room, hitting the bed hard. For a moment, Tara thought the slayer might have passed out, but a low moan passed between her lips as Amanda ran to her side. "Bastard."

"Now, now, language," the First taunted, taking a step forward.

"Thicken!" Willow intoned, and, for a second, Tara thought the spell had taken hold, but the possessed Arturo pushed through the barrier and took another step forward. This time, however, his full attention was on Willow. "I remember you, Witch," he said. "I remember what you did!"

"No!" Tara cried out, stepping in front of Willow.

"Tara, honey, what are you-"

The blow seemed to come out of nowhere, as Arturo sidestepped her blade with ease and slammed his fist into the side of her head. Dazed, Tara watched as Arturo stepped over her and grabbed Willow by the hair, smiling grimly. "Time to join me, witch," he said, as Tara scrambled to her feet. She couldn't lose Willow, not a second time.

Grimly, she raised her sword, and saw Willow's eyes widening in understanding over Arturo's shoulder as she brought the blade down. Arturo began to turn but it was already too late, the blade had already cut through his throat and severed his spine.

With A low cry, Tara fell to the ground, hardly feeling Willow's arms as they enveloped her. "Oh Tara, Tara, sweetheart, my love…"

Dimly, she heard Amanda voice, felt her pull Willow away from her. "You have to leave the room, Willow, before it starts."

"Starts?"

Small, glowing tendrils began to rise from Arturo's body, and Tara felt her eyes blur. Some part of her, deep down, had always hoped that she would never have to go through this.

Guess it was not to be.

The first flash hit her with such intensity, it literally knocked her flat; the second lifted her bodily and slammed her against the wall. DeLongis memories screamed through her mind, and Tara desperately tried to hold onto them, to gleam some form of information about the artefact, even as the pain threatened to make her black her out. _It has to be here, it has to be here. _

Another flash of the quickening hit her, and Tara screamed. It was so intense, she hadn't realised…was it supposed to be this bad? Adam had never said it would be this bad, and he never usually sugar coated the truth. _Maybe he had no words to describe the truth. _

A glimmer of a recent memory crowded her mind, and there it was, the light of R'Nathnor. _Of course- _

And then it hit.

_No! What is-_

It was like being buried alive, buried and choking on the scum of a mind so dark, so perverted…

**And now you're mine, my dear, now you're mine.**

The then, just as abruptly as it started, the quickening loosened its hold, and Tara fell to her knees, curling into a ball. What had happened to her? What was that-

But it was still there, creeping into her mind, staining her soul. Dimly, she heard Amanda cry out. "_No, no, not Tara, not sweet little Tara…"_

Funny, she'd never heard such pain in Amanda's voice before…would she cry out again?

**Yes, make her cry out like that again. **

Tara tried to shake the strange new sensation flooding through her – was it pleasure – as she heard Willow's light tread.

_"What's wrong with her, is this normal?" _

_"No, don't go near her!" _

Tara felt a snarl build within her. She wanted Willow, wanted to hold her, touch her…

**Kill her… **

Something deep within Tara screamed in protest, but it was losing battle. Too late, she understood what was happening.

_"What is it? What has it done to her?" _

Too late, Tara understood what was at stake.

_"A dark quickening. God help her, she's taken a dark quickening." _


	17. Chapter 17

**Los Angeles: Summer of 2003**

"Okay, we're ready," Buffy said, and Methos raised an eyebrow as her grip on his shoulder tightened painfully

"Easy," he said. "I may be an immortal but that doesn't mean I don't feel it when my bones crack."

"Oh, sorry." The grip loosened. "I guess it's nerves, if this doesn't work…"

Methos nodded. "I know, I don't especially like the idea of being stuck in a bronze aged hell either," he said dryly. "Let's do this, shall we?"

The others huddled closer, each of them holding onto him as he held up the amulet by it's chain. "Right, he muttered, biting down a moment of claustrophobia. "Here goes nothing." He took a deep breath and carefully slipped the chain over his neck.

Nothing happened.

"Shit," Kennedy muttered. "What do we do now—"

_The pain flashed through him, and Methos fell to his knees as the amulet began to glow. He heard Buffy's voice but couldn't make out the words .The world whitened. He let out a strangled cry as he felt something inside wrench. Nausea filled his throat and mouth and he swallowed it down, closing his eyes as the light became more intense, seeming almost to burn, and then…_

Nothing.

Wincing, he opened his eyes, some part of his mind registering the sudden weight pressing down on him even as he managed to move his head slightly and feel the familiar scratch of carpet pile. The light was dim and, for a moment, Methos didn't realise what was blocking his view.

Then the leg moved.

"Perfect, just _perfect_, " he muttered into the carpet. "Would you lot get off me?" A groan answered him, and the weight above shifted as the various bodies began to move.

"Did it work?" a voice asked, Methos recognised it as Elaine's. "Did we make it?"

"Either that, or we're in some kind of weird, beige hell," Kennedy snorted.

"It's the accounting department," said Angel.

"Close enough."

Methos groaned as he felt the last body peel off him, and he managed to flip onto his back.

"Are you alright?"

Methos squinted as Buffy's face swum in to view. "A few cracked ribs, give me a moment." Buffy nodded and backed away. He figured living with Arturo had given her an education on how immortal physiology works.

He felt his ribs creak back into place, and took in a deep breath as the pain in his chest eased. Better, much better. Slowly, he sat up and looked around. He saw a few bruised and battered faces, but nobody looked seriously injured. He guessed he took the brunt of it. Typical.

"It's pretty quiet," Kennedy said as she eyed the empty desks.

"Too quiet," Angel softly agreed.

"I wonder how long we've been gone?" another Slayer piped up.

"I don't know," Elaine said. "It feels like days."

"_There_, maybe," Angel said. "But not necessarily here; could have been hours, could have been years.

"You're kidding, right?" Kennedy asked sharply, before turning to Buffy. "Tell me he's kidding."

Buffy gave her a pained smile. "No, he's right."

"Well, I know one thing: we're not going to find anything out just standing here," Gunn said grimly.

"Huh, I don't know about you, but the first thing on my list is a shower and a change of clothes," Elaine chirped up.

Buffy shifted uncomfortably as she realised she was still wearing her bronze aged outfit. "Yeah, that too," she mumbled.

"Oh, I don't I know," Kennedy drawled out as she looked down at her own random collection of scanty rags. "I think it has a certain something…do you think Willow will get a kick out of it?"

"I'd find a mirror first, the face paint leaves something to be desired," Buffy said dryly.

"Face paint?"

Well, maybe the word 'paint' might be a little overly optimistic…"

"Ewww!"

Methos sighed, looking down at his own outfit and the battered, bronze sword. "I was very fond of my Ivanhoe," he sighed.

"Relax," Buffy said. "Arturo always carries a few spares, I'm sure he'll lend you one."

Methos winced. "Ah, yes, about Arturo, I've been meaning to tell you but—" The immortal's presence washed over him coldly, and Methos cursed under his breath, fumbling for the blade.

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "We've got company?" she asked.

"Yes," he said flatly, grasping the short sword as he prowled towards the door.

"It's probably Tara," Buffy said, lowering her voice as she signalled to the other Slayers to fan out around the door.

Methos shook his head. "Too strong," he said.

"Really, you can tell the difference? But Arturo said…" Buffy shook her head. "Never mind, but if it isn't Tara, it's probably Arturo."

"Gods, I hope not."

Buffy's face darkened. "What's _that_supposed to mean?"

"Long story," Methos muttered as he gently turned the handle and pedalled backwards as the door swung open.

A woman stood in the centre of the hall foyer, her face hidden by the deep cowl of her hood. Not that he needed to see her face. He already knew who it was. "What are you doing here, Cassandra"

"Methos," She said, smiling wryly as she saw him wince. "Ah, they weren't privy to your true name, I take it?"

"Methos?" Buffy echoed. "_The_ Methos? But Arturo said—"

"Yes, well, Arturo said a lot of things," Methos snapped. "Pity so few of them were true."

"Hey, what is _with_ you?" Buffy demanded. "Every time I mention Arturo's name you react like you've suddenly got a bad taste in your mouth."

"Yeah, I'm all ears," Angel asked. Buffy scowled at him. Obviously, he'd sounded a touch too eager.

"Don't_you _start!" She said hotly. "I know that you two don't get on but…"

"Hey! I ain't the one calling him a liar!," Angel said defensively, glancing at Methos. "That's what you're calling him, right? A liar? How bad is it? Will we have to kill him?"

"You are not killing my boyfriend!"

"The point is moot," Cassandra interjected gently. "Arturo is already dead."

"What?" the word flew out of Methos's and Buffy's mouth simultaneously

"_Please_ tell me it was you," Methos added, as his mind went over the possibilities and didn't like where it was going. Cassandra shook her head silently and he groaned. "Amanda?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Tara," Angel said softly.

"Tara? But Tara would never do something like that…" Buffy's face faltered.

"Kennedy huffed. "Don't be so sure."

"Leave it alone, Kennedy," Angel said, sighing.

"All I'm saying—"

"Why are you here?" Methos interrupted impatiently. "And where is_Tara_?"

"I was with Joe when Amanda phones him," Cassandra sighed. "Apparently Arturo tried to kill someone called Willow, and Tara jumped into protect her."

Kennedy pushed forward. "Willow? Is she all right? Is she hurt—"

"You didn't answer my second question, Cassandra," Methos said, gripping Kennedy's shoulder to silence her.

Cassandra hesitated. "Arturo was possessed by the First," she said. "The quickening didn't go well."

Methos groaned. "How is she?"

"And Willow," Kennedy said, shaking Methos's hand away. "Where's Willow?"

"Willow is well," Cassandra said. She accompanied Tara to France."

"France?" Methos said. "How long have we been gone?"

"It's been two days since the amulet took you," Cassandra said.

"Listen, I don't know who you are, and I don't care," Buffy said coldly. "But if someone doesn't tell me what the hell is going on here, I'm going to be a _very_ unhappy Slayer."

"Seconded," Kennedy said grimly.

"You want the truth? Fine!" Methos snarled. "Your fine, upstanding boyfriend was in fact a Nazi mass murderer in league with the First, and using you for information. That good enough for you?"

"Wh-what?" Buffy's face paled. "I think… I think I need to sit down."

"As tactful as ever, I see," Cassandra drawled.

"Don't start on me, Cassandra, I'm not in the mood," Methos snapped. "Why is Tara in France? Why did…oh shit. It was a dark quickening, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"A dark quickening?" Buffy asked, seeming to collect herself.

"It happens sometimes," Methos muttered. "Can have some nasty repercussions. Even an old and seasoned Immortal would be in serious danger of having their entire personality tainted by it and Tara…."

"Is neither," Angel said softly. "I'm guessing there's something in France that can reverse the process?"

"If you get the person there in time, before their personality is completely subsumed, and even then, it's not….certain," Methos said, his mind racing. "Fine, France it is, then."

"Uh, aren't you forgetting something, like an apocalypse, perhaps?" Gunn asked. "if two days have past then it must be about to happen."

"At Dusk, three hours away," Cassandra confirmed.

"An even better reason to leave town," Methos muttered.

Cassandra snorted. "Some things don't change."

"Now is not the time, Cassandra," Methos said. "I need to get to France as soon possible and unless you know…" Methos halted, studying her face carefully. "But you did know, didn't you? That's why you waylaid her in the airport. You knew, and you said_nothing_. If this is your way of getting around your promise to MacLeod then I promise you, Cassandra: if Tara doesn't survive this, I _will_ make you pay for this."

Cassandra laughed sourly. "Do you really think it was MacLeod's plea that stayed my hand, Methos?" she said. "Do you actually believe I let you live as a favour to Duncan? Believe me, if I though there was any other way…" She took a deep breath. "Yes, Methos, I knew," she admitted softly. "But I didn't stay silent because of some petty vengeance, Tara would not have deserved that. I stayed silent because, however horrific her ordeal is right now, it is nothing compared to what would have happened if she hadn't taken his head."

**Bordeaux, France: 1996**

At last, the quickening flickered to an end, and Cassandra slowly approached the headless corpse on the concrete floor. Silas, dead, as was Kronos and Caspian. There was only one monster left.

Methos.

"I killed Silas, I _liked_Silas." He sat prostrate on the ground, not even looking up as Cassandra dragged Silas's axe towards him.

"And now I'm supposed to forgive you," Casssandra ground out.

"Cassandra!"

Cassandra looked up, disbelief running through her as she saw the plea in Duncan's eyes. "You want him to _live_?"

"Yes, I want him to live."

But she couldn't do it. As long as Methos lived, she wouldn't have peace. She needed him dead, needed to know that he would never hurt anyone, the way he'd hurt her, _ever again_. Steeling herself, she raised the axe. He just lay there, not even raising his head, but she couldn't summon any pity for him. Three thousand years had passed and she still lived with the nightmares. She cried out, a scream of rage, and—

_It was wrong, all wrong; it wasn't supposed to happen this way. She was supposed to leave, find a teacher, but instead she stayed…and lost._

_There was darkness and screaming, clawed creatures spilling out of the earth. They had thought they could stop it, but the Immortal who was destined to stay their hand now rode at the First's right hand. _

_Faith wasn't sure what had happened to Tara, but she was certain that it had something to do taking Arturo's head. But it was too late to fix it now._

"_We've got to stop her," Faith said, turning to Willow._

"_I can't," Willow said hoarsely. "You can't ask me to do that."_

_Wesley had made it to their side, scrabbling through the rubble. He had been wounded in the dawn attack, and his chest was heavily bandaged, but at least he was alive, unlike Giles._

_Faith sighed. Tara's defection had only been the first blow. When Buffy and Angel had also disappeared, taking with them a good chunk of the Slayers, the heart had gone out of the rest…._

"_We're going to lose, aren't we?"_

_Faith looked at the young Slayer lying down on a makeshift bed of coats and jackets. She didn't look a day over fourteen and, from the look of her wounds, she wouldn't live to see fifteen. She didn't know what to say; she didn't want to lie._

"_Well, if we're going to lose, we might as well give them a bloody nose while we're at it," Wesley said, and Faith threw him a grateful look_

"_Listen up, people," she said aloud. "You heard the Watcher, time to give these freaks a taste of their own medicine, who's with me?"_

_The ragged crowd of survivors sent up a hoarse cheer. Most of them would be dead by nightfall, and those were the lucky ones._

_Faith laughed, she'd always known she'd die young; at least she'd go down fighting… _

Cassandra faltered under the weight of the vision, the axe suddenly feeling heavy in her hands. Gods, was it true? Could the taking of his life really affect the future so drastically?

"Cassandra! I want him to live!"

But what Duncan wanted didn't really matter, anymore than what she wanted. The axe fell from her grasp, and she stumbled back, afraid she might give into the temptation of ending him despite the repercussions. She didn't know how she made it to the metal footbridge and dragged herself across it, but she did.

She needed to keep going, she couldn't look back.

A champion would need a teacher, and Death had been elected for the job.

**Los Angeles, Two days previously.**

The others hovered just outside of reach, afraid to touch her, but Tara's eyes followed Amanda as she circled around. She had to be taken care of. "Amanda, what are you doing?" She kept her voice small and scared as she turned to look at the witch. "Willow, what's happened?"

Amanda pinned her with her a look. "We have to handcuff her."

"B-but she's okay, look at her. She's just a little bit shaken up," Willow said, taking a step forward. Tara hid a smile as she slowly got to her feet. She was nearly within reach.

"Willow, she has to be restrained, " Amanda warned. "Trust me on this."

Damn it, wouldn't the bitch shut up? "I-I don't understand….what's happened?" Tara said the words softly. It wouldn't do for them to hear the snarl in her voice. She debated about which one she could kill first: the witch or the thief? She risked a glance at the floor, and saw her sword lying beside De Longi's body, just beyond Willow. Very well, the witch first.

"How about we _all _take a step back," Faith drawled. "No rush here; we just figure what happened to Tara when that quickening thing hit her. Take it step by step."

"Faith," Amanda said lowly. "Please believe me, Tara _really_isn't herself right now. Look at her face, look at her eyes."

"W-what are you saying," Tara said, her eyes widening.. "Amanda, I thought you were my friend. Why are you saying these things?"

"See?" Willow said, taking another step forward. "It's Tara—"

Tara struck, a quick strike to the gut and a sweep at her legs. The witch crashed into the wall and Tara dove for her sword - only to have a foot pin her hand to the floor.

"Uh-uh," Faith drawled. "No running with scissors."

Tara glared as Amanda swept the sword out of reach and bent down beside Willow.

"So, who's playing house inside her head?" Faith asked flatly.

Amanda hesitated and Tara smirked. "Afraid to tell them the truth, Amanda?"

"Amanda?" Faith said. "What's going on here?"

"It's called a dark quickening," Amanda said flatly. "I've never seen one up close and personal before but, from what I know, it's not a possession, exactly. It's more like her moral compass has been…rewritten?"

"Let me get this straight," Faith said. "You're telling me that this dark quickening has made her evil?"

"Well, I wouldn't have put it quite that bluntly, but yes."

"But there's a way to reverse it, right? What would it take, another quickening? Isn't that how you guys work?"

Amanda looked up from the cut on Willow's forehead. "That wouldn't be a good way to go," she said softly.

"I notice how you_ didn't_say it wouldn't work."

"Look," Amanda said. "A dark quickening is very rare. It only happens when you take the head of someone so evil, so maddened, that all they can think of is inflicting hurt and pain."

"So?"

"_So,_ let's say we _do_look for a quickening that could cancel it out. An ordinary quickening wouldn't do the job. Your average Immortal is like you're average mortal, neither good nor evil, but a bit of both. You'd need a special kind of quickening, let's call it a light quickening, and if a dark quickening can only be gotten from an evil Immortal—"

"Then a light quickening can only be got from a good person," Faith sighed. "Gotcha. Strike _that_ plan."

Willow groaned. "What happened?" she asked.

"Your ex ran you into a wall," Faith said.

"But I did it from a place of love," Tara piped up sarcastically. "Truly."

Faith stared down at her coldly. "You can shut up."

"Or what?"

"Or I stuff a gag in your mouth," she said shortly.

Tara sneered at her but kept her mouth shut. She needed to be ready in case they let their guard down again. She had things to do, places to be.

Yes, you do, and the quicker we are joined, the better it will be.

Tara cocked her head and listened to the voice. It made such beautiful promises, unlike the other one…

…_oh goddess, oh goddess, don't listen to her. Fight it… _

Tara's lip twisted derisively; what was there to fight? She was free now, truly free.

…_don't listen…don't listen…_

It was barely a whisper now; soon it would be gone…

"The First, I sense her," Willow said tersely.

"Probably wants to play with her new toy," Faith said.

Willow glared at her. "Don't say that!"

"It's just tellin' the truth as I see it, Red," Faith sighed. "She's become a liability. I say we tie her up, like Amanda says, and—"

"No!" Willow said. Dragging herself to her feet. "There must be something we can do?"

"Listen, I'd love to have an easy answer, Red, but—"

"I might know a way," Amanda said softly.

Willow looked at her eagerly. "You do?"

"It's a long shot," Amanda said reluctantly. "And I'm not sure if we can find what we're looking for. M-Adam knew but…"

"He's gone," Faith said.

Tara giggled. "Oops, and whose fault is that again?"

Amanda ignored her. "We need to get to Paris as quickly as we can," she said. "I'll book a private jet and—"

No need," Willow interrupted. "I can get us there."

"You sure you've got the juice, Red?" Faith asked.

"Oh, it isn't a matter of juice, it's the will power that she's lacking," Tara said nastily.

"Oh Goddess, this is worse than what Glory did to her," Willow said hoarsely.

"Hey, don't sell yourself short, honey dear, you did a pretty good number on my mind too. _Twice_, if I remember correctly."

"Don't listen to her, Willow," Amanda murmured, as she pulled out her mobile phone. "She's just trying to distract you. Do what you need to do."

Tara watched as Willow backed away to the other end of the room and dropped into a lotus position. She went through her options. It was obvious Amanda was making a beeline for Joe's, maybe she could use that to her advantage and get Joe to help her. Once free, there were a few things that would work in her favour; for one thing, she spoke the language…

Tara's eyes wandered over to Amanda, keeping her body limp as Faith heaved her up from the floor. The thief might be a problem, she knew Paris like the back of her hand - but it wasn't anything that a bullet in the back and a hack of a blade couldn't handle.

As if sensing what Tara was thinking, Amanda looked up from her phone. "You'd better pat her down. Adam has a habit of carrying more than one weapon, she may have one secreted upon her."

Tara sneered, if she had another weapon, the witch would be dead by now; but she kept her mouth shut and listened as Amanda spoke softly into the phone.

"_I need to know where… Dark Quickening…You don't? No, Adam can't…portal… Duncan… Can you find out? We're on our way…. Long story…"_

"Any luck?" Faith asked, as Amanda hung up.

Amanda shrugged. "There's someone who might be able to help us," she said. "Joe said he'd try and track him down."

"We're good, to go," Willow said, taking a deep breath.

"Giles will need to know where we're gone," Faith said.

"already taken care of," Willow murmured.

Amanda took a deep breath. "How does this work?"

Faith's grip on Tara's arms tightened. "You just hold on and hope—"

_Light flashed painfully into Tara's eyes and she let out a scream, she struggled against Faith's grip and felt a moment of shocked pleasure as she felt herself slip from the Slayer's grip. Then the agony slipped through her mind and the word twisted and—_

"Shit, she wriggled free!"

Tara didn't pause to think. She leapt to her feet, saw Faith try to head her off from the front entrance of the bar, and immediately leapt for the back way. A slumped body, the witch, was in her path, and she leaped over her.

Amanda's voice cried out. "Joe, shoot her!"

Joe moved into her path, a gun in his hand, but Tara barrelled into him and sent him flying before she hit the door. She made her way unerringly through the back office and hallway and slammed through the door into the back alley, not even pausing for breath as she hit the street. Her biggest danger, right now, was Faith's speed and Amanda's sensing range. She needed to lose them both, fast.

She slipped down a side street and made a dash for the next boulevard, another side street and she found the Seine. She didn't halt; she kept on running. The first place they'd look would be Adam's place; the Highlander's barge would be further down the list.

She ran down the steps, grinning as she saw the barge moored to the same ring it had been tied to on her first day in Paris. MacLeod would have least one blade stashed onboard for emergencies. It would be foolish to do otherwise.

She felt the steady thrum of another immortal's presence and cursed under her breath. Damn it, Amanda must have figured it out. Never mind, she'd still reach the barge first...

A dark haired figure appeared on the barge's deck and Tara faltered. She couldn't make out his features against the skyline but she knew who it was.

"Hello, Tara." His voice was soft, gentle, a hint of his native Scots still in his accent.

"Stay away from me," she snarled backing away.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he said, as he reached the gangplank. "You see, I know what you're going through, right now, and—"

"Stay away from me!" The clatter of feet on the stone footsteps rang out behind her and Tara cursed as she felt another presence approach. Instinctively, she ran.

And felt the bullet rip through her spine and through her chest, sending her to the ground in a splatter of blood and bile.

Distantly, she heard the soft thread of feet as she held onto the last dregs of consciousness. She heard the scratch of denim and his steady breath, as he knelt down and touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Tara, I'd hoped we'd meet under better circumstances."

And then the world went black.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**A secret location, outside Paris, two days ago.**

Tara awoke to find them pulling at her, dragging her across cold stone; the fools, did they not know who she was, now? _What_ she was?

"**We have a bright future, you and I. Break them. They are nothing against our will.**"

She knew that, she knew, but they were many and she was one. How could she-

"**Here."**

Her eyes opened as power she hadn't felt in so long...too long... surged through her. So this was how it worked now. How had she not seen it before? Power crackled though her fingers, and she smiled slowly.

"She's awake!" Willow's voice cried out. Look out!"

There she was again. The girl who thought she knew who she was. Foolish little Willow, didn't she know Tara had moved beyond her? Death is on her heels, and_ flame-_

"**Incendia!**," she roared, aiming at Willow.

"Deflecte," Willow said quickly, slamming the flames into cavern wall.

"Well, that is new," muttered a voice that sounded familiar – Joe.

"**Hello, Joe,**" she – they - cajoled. "**Been a while, hasn't it?. I'll bet you wish you weren't so quick to turn down my offer now, don't you? Those legs must be hell to manoeuvre in here.**"

"Gag her," Willow said. "It'll make it harder for her to cast."

"Didn't slow you down, if I recall," Xander panted.

"Let's err on the side on caution, shall we," said Duncan MacLeod.

The voice inside Tara cackled with glee. **The Highlander! The Highlander is here!**" And another voice, so soft, so weak, stuggled. _No. No. You mustn't let it have him._"

"No," Tara gasped out, as Duncan MacLeod's face swam into view. "You can't...can't...the flame...I can feel the..."

His face tensed. "I'm sorry, Tara, truly I am," he said, as he pushed a dagger through her chest.

Pain and darkness took her again.

**The Raven, Paris, three months before.**

"Has anyone heard from him?" Amanda asked, as she took a sip of her wine.

The scrape of the glass startled Tara from her doze, and her eyes opened to see Adam's hand nursing his beer bottle about an inch from her nose. Two beers and she'd fallen asleep. He'd tease her mercilessly about this tomorrow. She thought about sitting up and pretending she'd been just resting her eyes, when Adam spoke.

"You know what he's like when he is having one of his _moods._ It could be a year, maybe two, before he comes around again."

She heard Amanda sigh. "He never used to be like this, you know," she said. "I know it must seem like that to you, but he was such a lighthearted idiot when I first met him. It was one of the first things that struck me..."

"An easy mark, then."

Amanda laughed. "Well, so I thought – for about two minutes."

They were talking about Highlander! They never talked about Duncan MacLeod...at least, not when they thought she was listening. Curiosity caught hold of her, and she closed her eyes again as she heard Adam shift in his seat.

"What changed him?" Adam asked.

"I think it started with Tessa's death," Amanda said reluctantly.

"You forgot to mention Darius's and Richie's...and Conor."

"Yes, well." Even with her eyes closed, Tara could sense Amanda's shrug. "Some things go without saying, don't they?"

Questions bubbled up within Tara, but she knew that they'd only clam up again if she sat up. There was always a sadness in Amanda's eyes, and a falter in Adam's step, whenever Duncan MacLeod's name came up, and she never understood really understood why. They both loved him, that much was pretty certain, but there was a hesitation there that Tara couldn't quite figure out.

She'd asked Joe once, and he'd gotten such a haunted look in his eyes,she never could bring herself to bring it up again.

"Do you believe in it?" Adam asked abruptly, breaking her line of thought.

"How can you not?" Amanda asked. "Everytime we look in the mirror, we see living proof of the impossible. What was it that Billy said-"

"Don't," Adam interrupted. "I've already had this speech from Joe."

Amanda sighed. "I guess it doesn't matter what we believe," she said eventually. "It only matters what _he_ believes and, in _his _world, evil is walking among us, and it's waiting for its one good day."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Adam muttered, and Tara yelped as his fingers attacked her ribs, making her splutter. "Time to get up, Goldilocks," he said, unrepentantly. "We need to get you home to your own bed."

**Los Angeles. The End of The World.**

The room fell quiet as Cassandra finished her tale, and Methos eyed her cautiously; she may have decided not to kill him in Bordeaux because she thought he was needed to teach Tara - but now that he'd fulfilled his purpose?

Well. Let's just say he wasn't going to turn his back on her any time soon.

"Where is everyone else?" he asked abruptly. "Or did Willow teleport everyone in the building to Paris?" If so, Joe's regulars must have got quite a show.

Rupert Giles is speaking to what's left of the Slayer army," Cassandra said flatly. "No one has heard from Willow and the others since they've left."

"This averted prophecy isn't adding up to much, is it?" Methos muttered.

"Who went to Paris with Willow?" Angel asked.

"The Slayer called Faith and Amanda Darieux," she said.

"I need a phone," Methos said. "I need to get to Paris as quickly as possible."

"You won't get there in time," Angel said. "Not by plane."

Methos quirked an eyebrow. "Got a better idea?"

Angel smiled coolly, it didn't exactly warm the cockles of Methos's heart. "One or two," the Vampire said.

"Well, you'd better hurry," Cassanda said, as she pulled a horn from coat. "By the looks of things you don't have much time."

"What is that?" Methos asked, as he eyed the darkened ivory of the horn, and the Minoan script tracing it's edges.

"Don't ask questions when you already know the answer, Methos," she taunted.

And suddenly, it clicked. "I should kill you for this," he said succinctly.

She shrugged. "You've said that before, several times," she said. "The threat tends to pall after a while."

"You told me you never meant Tara any harm," he said tersely. "You lied to me, Cassandra."

"Did I?" Cassandra said. "There's a difference between harming someone, Methos, and letting what must happen, happen. I gave her the tools to survive."

"But if you'd handed it over in the first place, her first quickening wouldn't have included a one way trip to _hell_."

"One's first quickening is always hell, Methos, don't you remember?" Her head tilted as he flinched. "Oh, I see." she laughed humourlessly. "That explains a lot." She threw the horn at him, and he caught it automatically. He really needed to get out of that habit. She evidently thought the same, because she smirked at him.

"Ride on, Death," she said. "You carry hope in your hands, even as you snap at her heels."

The light dimmed for a split moment, and she was gone; illusion or magic, he wasn't sure, and who really gave a damn?

"The light of R'Nathnor," Buffy said quietly. "That's it, isn't it?"

"She had it all along, and let Tara take a dark quickening for nothing," he said lowly. "I'm going to make her pay for that."

"Okay, heel, boy," Buffy said dryly. "Nobody is snapping anyone else's head off until I get the full story."

"Giles," Angel said.

"Giles," the Slayers chorused.

"Fine," Methos bit out. "The Watcher it is, then – but just so you'll know, my prority is Tara, Armageddon is not my concern."

"That's not what your Seer friend said," Angel muttered.

"_That_ was no_ friend_ of mine," Methos said. "That was-" he blinked. "Well, I suppose that was due," he admitted. "I just wish Tara wasn't in the middle of it. I hate prophecies."

**TBC**


End file.
